Empty Pages
by OceansAria
Summary: The pages detailing the unrecorded events of the days during their trek through the wilderness in search for their family. Beth and Daryl take on more than just combat with the undead and the very much alive, but also the struggles of trying to overcome grief, tension, and the possibility of mutual affection. (SPOILERS LEADING UP TO LATE S5)
1. Days Go By

I knew that Daryl would never care for me the way Glenn cared for Maggie, or the way Daddy did for Mama. I knew he cared, though. In his own Dixon way. I knew from his touch-callused fingers filled with genuine warmth. I knew by the way he made sure to always forge ahead of me wherever we went, constantly making sure I stayed safe. I knew because even when I could hear his stomach making the weirdest popping and growling noises he still gave me the last bit of his food, whether it was cold baked beans or stale crackers.

I loved him because he never accepted my thanks. A weird way to phrase it, I know, but he was honorable and modest in an immoral and dying world. He could've killed me because I was weaker than him, and a burden. He could've left me to die and turn and run off by himself to find the others.

He cared instead.

* * *

"Watcha lookin' so hard at?"

I smiled as I ran my finger over the back of the CD case. The flashlight's lowbeam highlighted all the scratches on the plastic. "Found somethin' worth listenin' to."

Daryl didn't reply except for the raise of his eyebrows. I turned around the case to show him the title, to which he grunted in is normal fashion.

"Ain't much of an Elvis fan."

"Aw, c'mon," I teased as I leaned across the console to pop the CD in the player. "Everybody loves Elvis. He's, like, the classic of classics."

"Naw." Daryl toyed with the unlit cigarette in his mouth, keeping his eyes on the empty road stretching ahead of us. "Hendrix's a classic. Elvis is just 'nother pussy pretty-boy."

It was evening and the sun was dying for the day. We'd found the Subaru SUV, or the "piece a'shit prissy pants station wagon" as Daryl had put it, stranded in the middle of the road. I was just happy to find something that ran, didn't contain a walker or a half-eaten corpse, and had nearly a half tank of gas. I could almost hear Daddy saying that it was a blessing God had planted right there for us.

I exhaled a giggle as the first song's chords began, only for me to press the next button until the player settled on Track 12. Slow, sweet, and melancholy, Elvis crooned out his yearnings over the speakers, filling the car and what felt like the woods around us with something other than death and silence.

_Love me tender, love me sweet, never let me go . . ._

"Aw, hell no," Daryl grunted, he slammed his hand down, shutting out Elvis' voice. "I ain't listenin' to this romantic shit."

I yanked his hand off and protested, "You _always_ pick the music. Can't I for once?"

He took his eyes off the highway long enough to give me a long, hard glance and grunt again. He tightened his fingers back around the wheel, giving me his quick go-ahead chin dip. I kept looking at him as I started the song over and left the volume low, only so I could hear snatches here and there.

"I used to dance to old music like this," I whispered. I hated the quiet between us; missed the easy conversation I'd always had with Maggie and Carol. "Daddy won't big on technology, you know. Heh. He was funny about us getting cable. Never let us go see a PG-13 movie, either. Mama found an old record player in the attic one day and some records, too. We kept it in the kitchen, so when we were bakin' and cookin' we'd turn on Elvis or Ella Fitzgerald, or even Yellow Submarine."

"Always knew you were a flower child," Daryl huffed. He shifted in the driver's seat, adjusting his sodden jeans around his thighs. We hadn't had clean clothes since before we left the prison. If I hadn't been used to the stench of dried sweat and crusted blood, I would've probably been pinching my nose.

"Mama always said I was a bad dancer."

He stayed hushed.

"Said I looked like a baby deer with a gimpy leg," I laughed. I brushed my fingers along the side of my seat, found the lever, and pulled it up while simultaneously pressing my shoulders into the seat to recline it. Once I was settled back, I pulled my knees up to my chest and turned to face Daryl. "I bet you did silly things with your mama, too, when you were little."

That got another glance out of him—this one had sour-pursed lips and deeper, grit-filled lines around his eyes. I watched his Adam's apple as he swallowed.

"Yeah."

* * *

We drove the piece of shit prissy-pants station wagon for several days. It was odd; normally we'd ride for a while, stop and make camp, and leave the car behind the next day to trek on through the woods. But Daryl said we should rest some. I couldn't disagree. My feet were blistered and angry with ache; my neck had several cricks in it from using too many rocks as pillows. Sometimes it dawned on me that I forgot what my bed at the farmhouse felt like. Big, soft and yet firm, with warm old quilts and lots of pillows.

Two days later, we came across a town named Woodstock.

"Hmph. Sounds like you'll fit in here," Daryl teased. "Little miss hippie chick."

We parked in front of a completely rummaged pharmacy, being careful not to make much noise as we gathered our packs and weapons. There wasn't a walker as far as I could see. Usually we encountered at least a few shuffling around. Woodstock truly was a ghost town.

Daryl pointed lazily at the pharmacy doors. "Doubt there's much to scavenge in there."

I shrugged. "You never know. Could be some medicine or a first aid sure could use it."

Daryl sniffed disdainfully. He walked ahead of me, stopping by the front doors and tapping three times on the glass with his knuckles. When nothing came immediately, he rested his back against the faded brick wall and kicked up a foot behind him to prop himself upright. He wiggled his shoulders to loosen them, preparing for a fight.

I made sure my knife was at the ready. We waited five minutes, then ten. Finally Daryl straightened up and jerked his head towards the entrance. "Sounds like it's clear."

He still kept his crossbow up at his shoulder as we split off to check out different sides of the tiny pharmacy. I listened to his rummaging for a while as I scavenged for Motrin and ointment and gauze, only to find I'd ended up in the minute make-up section. It was the only untouched part. Almost every other shelf had been cleared or toppled and soiled.

Daryl found me staring at a two tubes of lipstick, sitting on the floor with half a dozen other choices of powders, mascara, and eyeliner. My pack sat in my lap, open.

"Hey, c'mon. Got what I could. Place's been sacked before. Hardly any meds in the back but I found some water and—" he loomed over me. "What's all that mess?"

I rubbed my thumb over the slick plastic tube in my hand. "Make-up. It's funny, huh? How stupid stuff like this mattered before but nobody even gives it a second thought now?"

His mouth hung open in the way it did whenever he wasn't sure what to say, or if he should even say anything. I'd caught on to almost all of Daryl's motions and fidgets since we left the prison, though there were still plenty of moments where I had no idea what he could be thinking.

"I dunno. Ain't never cared about no face goo."

"Maggie bought make-up even when she wasn't supposed to," I continued. Talking so much about my family made my inside hurt in a very unpleasant way. "Used to steal it from her and try it on. Mama always told me I didn't need it. But I still wanted it."

Daryl shifted his pack uncomfortably on his shoulder. "Your mama was right."

I smiled up at him. That was the closest it got to a compliment for Daryl. I stood and put the other things back in their rightful, dusty places and slung my bag across my back. Holding out the two different tubes, I inquired, "Which color?"

"Huh?"

"Which one you think would look better on me?" The weirdest of sensations tickled my gut as Daryl's harsh gaze settled on me. His expression was slightly more pissed than usual, yet his mouth was soft and smirking.

"Don't matter t'me."

"C'mon," I pleaded. "I can't decide. And I ain't got anyone else to ask."

I jostled the tubes back and forth, urging him to help. Daryl only stared harder at me and sighed. "Dunno. Look, sun's startin' to go down. We need to get somewhere and make camp. Get dinner."

He strapped his crossbow over his back and strode out without me. In a split second decision, I grabbed both colors and the tube of mascara though I had a feeling that it was dried out. Still, when I hopped into the passenger seat and tossed my pack into the back, flipped down the visor mirror, and tested my newfound beauty things, my new good mood didn't leave me. Daryl could grunt and grumble all he pleased over my stupid face goo.

The red lipstick was my favorite, the pink was too gaudy for my skin. The mascara was dried out, but I revived the formula by dropping in a bit of water and pumping the wand a bit. When the Elvis CD started playing again, I felt like Marilyn Monroe on the way to a big movie premiere, not a farm girl with no farm, possibly no family, and a surly redneck as my only friend.

* * *

We found a house a couple miles from where the car ran out of gas. This was the quietest the woods around us has been. Not a single walker came stumbling forward or from behind. This unnerved me more than being attacked by a herd.

"Awfully quiet," I muttered at Daryl's back.

He _hmm_ed. "Think I see a house up ahead."

"You wanna stay there tonight?"

"If you want to."

The house was walker-free as well. It was cleaner than most abandoned homes we came across, with a crocheted blanket still folded neatly across the slightly sagging plastic covered couch.

"Looks like an old bitty used to live here," Daryl mumbled as he stepped cautiously, one foot softly over the other, to check the upstairs. "I'mma scout up this way."

I headed for the tiny kitchen; each wall and chair had cutesy signs with quotes or Bible verses, and the deadened fridge was covered in magnets. One picture was on the fridge under a Loony Tunes magnet—two smiling little boys, one missing both his front teeth.

Daryl startled me from my reverie. He sauntered into the kitchen, his crossbow strapped across his back once more, and immediately started rifling through the cabinets adjacent to the fridge.

"All clear upstairs?" I inquired. I moved the magnet to pick up the photograph, peering at the date. It had been taken not long before the outbreak.

"Yeah."

"I know it freaked you out too that we didn't encounter a single walker all the way through the woods."

He hummed a low reply as he stacked several canned goods, even coming across a giant can of yams. "Maybe they're goin' into hibernation or sumthin."

"Maybe. Yuck," I commented. "Yams are gross."

"Yuck keeps your stomach from grumblin, girl." He tossed me a half-empty liter of ginger ale. "Taste that."

I slipped the picture into my back pocket and unscrewed the cap and take a swig. "Expired," I coughed, leaning over the sink to spit it out. I wiped the back of my hand over my mouth. "Find anything else?"

"Check that tap, see if we got water. I'm gonna go tie up some cans around the house."

"We're stayin?"

Daryl nodded. "Just for tonight."

Again, I did as he said. I messed with the knobs on the sink, and after a minute of dirty brown water, the tap ran clear. I smiled in relief when the hot water actually worked too. Daryl would be outside for a little while, and since the house was secure, I went on the hunt for a shower.

I found an old clawfoot bathtub in the bathroom up the stairs. After checking to see if the hot water worked there too, I locked the door, slid the small wooden chair under the knob just in case, and stripped. There was a jackpot load of bubble bath and loofahs and soap beneath the sink. My best guess was that this old woman had grabbed her necessities and ran to her grandchildren.

I selected the lavendar and rose petals bubble bath and dumped it in as the water filled the tub. Once it was completely brimming with foam and steaming water, I shut off the tap and slid in.

I didn't dawdle. Using one of the loofahs, I quickly washed my legs, arms and torso, dunking under to scrub my hair till it felt like it would fall off at the roots. The towels hanging on the rack—as if the woman had left them there for a guest—were laden with dust and grime, so I shook them off the best I could and dried my body. I knew there was no point in searching for clothes in this house, so I pulled my least dirty clothing from my pack and grabbed the forgotten hairbrush. I could hear Daryl rummaging around below, so I unlocked the door to go join him.

He only raised his head for a second when I entered the living room.

"You been primpin' again?"

I smiled. The feeling of a brush combing through my hair was familiar, calming. "We got hot water and plenty of soap. I was filthy." I crossed my legs beneath me as I sat on the plastic couch, the material screaming with my every move. "You should wash too."

He pursed his lips. "Naw. I'm alright."

"I could wash your clothes for you," I offered, hoping not to cross a line. I never knew when I would overstep his boundaries. "You have extras, right?"

Daryl continued to sharpen his knife without further comment. He'd pulled all the cans we'd found into the living room and scattered them all over the coffee table. I set my hairbrush aside and tiptoed into the kitchen to find utensils. Usually we ate with our hands, but if we had the chance to be civilized, I would seize it. The yearning for a shred of normality ached more than my empty gut.

"Hey." I dropped the pair of forks and spoons on the table by the cans. I'd noticed the fireplace upon entering. "I'm gonna go gather some firewood. I don't know bout you, but I'm tired of eatin' cold cornbeef."

Daryl didn't speak up until I was halfway to the door with my knife in hand.

"Be careful."

I shot him a small smile. "I'll scream bloody murder if I need you." Which was the wrong thing to say, because his jaw only tightened.

I swung open the door to find a woman with an arm full of twigs and a gun pointed at my head. Daryl was on his feet with his crossbow sighted on her temple the minute she cocked her pistol and settled her finger firmly on the trigger.

She growled, "Who the _hell_ are you?"


	2. Embers and Pennies

"Put the gun down, bitch," Daryl seethed.

"You put the bow down, _bitch_," the woman retorted with vinegar in her tone. She clenched her free hand around the stack of wood in her arms. Her eyes were the color of pennies, her hair the hue of roses. She was almost Daryl's height, and owned up to every inch of it. "My name is Joy Willis and I claimed this house a long time ago."

Daryl snorted. "You don't own this place. Ain't no deeds no more. Ain't seen your name any where 'round here."

"Actually, I do," the woman replied evenly. "This was my mother's house. It was left to me after she died." Her voice went soft and sour at the end. "This is my only refuge."

I spoke up: "Do you have two little boys?" I reached into my back pocket and pulled out the photograph. "Is this them?"

Some of the tension in her face loosened. Joy snatched it out of my hand. "Yes." She slid the photo into the front breast pocket of her flannel shirt, dirty like ours, all the while keeping the gun aligned with my forehead. "Now get out of my damn house. I don't want any trouble, but I'll give you some."

"No." I could tell his teeth were gritted to the point of fracture. "We ain't leavin'."

"You'll be fine out in the woods," Joy hissed. "I've pretty much cleaned out the woods for a mile or so around this place. Got traps set up for the deadbeats so they won't come up here."

I remarked, "No wonder it was so quiet comin' through."

"Yeah. You're welcome," Joy sneered. She forged her way into the entry with her gun still pointed. I shuffled lamely back, just barely noticing when I slammed into Daryl. "Now get your crap and get the hell out."

Daryl jerked his crossbow back upright. He started to growl out something I knew wouldn't help the situation. I grabbed his arm as roughly as I could to stop him before he loaded Joy's chest with arrows.

"_Dammit_, Beth! Get offa me! What the—"

"We can all stay here," I stated loudly, but calmly. I put all my strength into holding his wrist from moving. "For the night," I added, hoping to appeal Joy. Her copper eyes flashed with anger. "Look, ma'am, we've been traveling on foot all day. We hardly have any water and we ran out of food two days ago."

"'Cept for squirrel," Daryl grumbled.

I flicked my eyes at him as if to say, _Let me handle this. _He shut his mouth in partial surrender. "We just need one night to get rested and gather some supplies then we'll be on our way." I stuck out my hand. "We promise to be out by the time the sun rises in the morning if you let us stay and eat here tonight."

Joy's steeled expression didn't budge, but she did move to drop her gathered firewood on the living room floor. She kicked the door closed with her foot, uncocked the gun, and lowered it back to her side. Sighing, she reluctantly shook my outstretched hand.

"One night. That's it."

"That's it," I agreed. I nudged Daryl's side, and with a grunt more animalistic than usual, he lowered his weapon as well and shifted on his feet.

"I ain't afraid to hit no chick. 'Specially if she threatens us." He gave Joy a long, hostile glower and returned to cracking open our supper.

Joy, obviously not perturbed by Daryl's threat, turned on her heel and went into the kitchen. I followed her quickly, hoping to smooth things over more.

"Sorry 'bout Daryl," I apologized, finding her inside the pantry bent over looking at a lower shelf. I stopped right outside. "He's . . . he's not one for rollin' out the welcome mat."

"Is anyone?" Joy huffed. She stacked a few boxes in her arms, handing me the rest of her shopping. "He your boyfriend or brother or something?"

My cheeks flamed out of control. Sure, I'd noticed how, at certain times, being close to Daryl or seeing a fleeting smile cross his lips made my heart do funny hops, but I'd never once thought of him as anything more than a friend. Family, sure.

"Nope. Daryl's just a friend." I fingered the tab on the top of my box of crackers. "We had a camp with . . . with a lot of other people. We lost it, and we haven't been able to find our friends since." I puckered my lips in thought. "Did you and your family have a camp?"

"Sorry to hear that," she replied, ignoring my question. "Do you like lima beans?"

"Sure. Better than the yams we found."

"Yeah. My grandfather's favorite. Not so much mine. I wouldn't touch 'em. They've probably been in there longer than you've been alive."

Joy straightened, pushed past me, and we rejoined Daryl in the living room. Cans of cornbeef, green beans, and a jar of pickled eggs were waiting for us to feast away. I settled down on the floor by Daryl's feet. It had become a natural pull to constantly be at his side. When you only have one person to spend the days with in a world like this, you don't want to lose sight of them for long.

"I'll go get some cups and bowls," Joy said. As she turned to leave once more, she caught sight of Daryl's quick job at boarding up the windows. Even I had to admit it was messy, but it worked.

"What the hell is this?" she cried. "You went and _ruined_ my grandmother's walls!" She bent and grabbed up a picture frame, it's glass splintered from the middle outwards. "And you broke a priceless family photo!"

Daryl shrugged one shoulder. "Would you rather have screwed walls or a walker's teeth on your neck, lady?"

Joy fumed, "And what's with the fishing line and tin cans hanging on the porch? I almost broke my neck trying to step over them! Is that some kind of redneck territory mark thing?"

I knew that every tendon, muscle, and molar in his body was reclenching, revving up for a brawl. I touched Daryl's knee to keep him from doing anything stupid and addressed Joy: "They're so we can hear if anything comes up on the porch. Mostly dead things."

"What you want me to do?" Daryl challenged. "Pay for the damage?"

With another pissed huff, she spun and left us to ourselves. I didn't care to follow her this time—mostly because I'd known her for all of ten minutes and because I wasn't gonna apologize for something so trivial, especially if Daryl had done it to protect us. A pristine home wasn't something to worry about anymore.

"I'll get the fire started." I scooped up enough dry twigs and threw them in the fireplace on the far wall. A half-empty box of matches rested on the brick lining the fireplace. I grabbed my diary from my backpack and tossed a few blank pages on the meager fire to get it roaring. Autumn was settling in, as was the chill to the night air it brought as a companion.

Daryl passed me the first cans to set on top of the iron rack straddling the fire. Joy had clearly used it a plenty. As the food warmed, he settled for sharpening his arrows and I kept to myself, reading through my last diary entries before the prison was taken. They were fairly lighthearted, filled with bits and pieces about Judith and how fast she was growing and little tasks I'd done throughout the day. Thinking of Judith made me think of Carl and Rick, which made me think of the others, Maggie and Glenn and _Daddy—_and I had to snap the book shut and slam a hand over my eyes to stop from having a full-on meltdown.

_I'm not gonna do this here. I'm not gonna cry in front of Daryl and Joy like some helpless little girl wishing for her daddy and her big sister. We've all got jobs to do. We've gotta find them._

"Should be done."

Joy's reappearance brought me back into reality. I cleared my throat and grabbed the oven mitt she handed me to retrieve the cans from the rack. She sat on the opposite end of the room from Daryl in an faded floral armchair. I brought the cans over to the table, where we both served equal servings of lima beans and corn beef in the three matching, pale blue bowls. I stuck a fork in one and shoved it over to Daryl. Joy poured glasses of tap water. Once I got my own supper, I crawled back over to the fireplace and dug in. The wind was picking up outside, making me more and more grateful for the heat at my back.

"So how long have you two been on your own?"

Daryl wouldn't answer, so I did.

"Maybe a week and a half."

"All spent on the road?"

"Yeah. What about you? How'd you end up here? Did you live here with your mom?"

Joy shook her head. "No. I lived in Philadelphia."

"How the hell you end up in Georgia then?" Daryl asked.

"Came down to see my mom, make sure she was okay." Joy set her fork down, and her plate in her lap. She had a lithe frame; lean muscled, somewhat graceful. "Found out she'd up and left trying to get to us after she saw all that stuff on TV. By the time I turned around to go home, everything fell apart. The flights wouldn't go out and I couldn't get out of town because of the quarantines—" I watched as her fingers subconsciously reached for the photo in her breast pocket. "The phone lines died and then I never heard from them again."

"Maybe they're okay," I offered not only her, but Daryl. He didn't catch on that I meant it for him too. "We've been separated from our group before and found them again."

"Yeah, but not for this long," Daryl mumbled.

I shot him a glare equal to the one he had given our hostess. "Joy, I'm sure that your husband and mom would do anything to keep your boys safe. For all you know, they could be healthy and alive and heading your way."

Joy's eyes sparked. She leaned forward, pressing her elbows into her folded legs. "For all I know, they could've been eaten, turned, or killed _months_ ago."

"You can't just give up on your family," I insisted.

Her knuckles turned the color of bone. "Yeah, well, looks like we gave up on each other."

It grew quiet again between the three of us for a long while. I finished my dinner, gathered their dishes, and dropped them off in the kitchen sink. Normally, I would've offered to wash them, but I didn't. Water was precious. I didn't know if Joy wanted us to waste it.

Daryl'd already set up his bedroll by the hearth where I'd been sitting. He used his pack as a pillow and set his crossbow by his side as he laid back. His hunting knife stayed gripped in his left hand even as he relaxed and shut his eyes. Joy had disappeared again.

"Where'd she go?"

"Turned in."

"Oh. Guess expects us to keep an eye out." I put my stuff a few feet away from Daryl and snagged the crocheted blanket for extra warmth.

"Guess so."

The matted carpet was ten times better than the forest floor. _I can actually move around without worrying over a twig snapping and attracting walkers._ Since the fire was starting to die, I made sure to toss a helping of twigs on top before I settled down and cocooned myself with the musty blanket.

"You don't think that about our group, do you?"

He turned his head. The fire's glow revealed bruises, more dirt, and cuts on his skin than I'd been able to see previously. His eyes—I realized that I'd never known they were such a piercing blue-green—softened.

"Naw." He grunted. "Now, get some sleep, girl. Gotta be outta here by sunrise."

"I can keep watch for a while. You've gone harder than me these last few days."

Daryl turned to face the ceiling again. I followed his gaze upwards, finding a patch of water spots. "Get some sleep," he spoke much more gently. "You can take watch next time."

My eyes didn't close for a while. I didn't tell Daryl the next day that I didn't sleep for several hours, my mind preoccupied with thoughts of Joy's family, my own family, and the man lying twenty-four odd inches away. _He your boyfriend or brother or something?_ I reached out at one point as sleep was finally dragging me under and tried for his hand.

"Goodnight, Daryl," I whispered.

His fingers squeezed mine, then, let go.

"Night, Beth."


	3. Stuck on the Long Road

**Hello, my dears!**

**Soooo I'm thinking I'll try to update this weekly. If it turns out shorter or longer in between updates, my apologies.**

**Thanks for reading and being sweet!**

**XOXO,**

**OceansAria**

* * *

Joy was reluctant to give us free reign of her pantry, though she ended up giving us a fair amount of food and water to take along. She bid us nothing more than a "Good luck" before shutting her door for good.

I carried the food in my pack since Daryl's carried whatever weapons and ammo we'd scavenged. He set out for the highway again, knowing it led northwest, thinking we could follow it for a while.

"Maybe we'll find another car," I called ahead to him. "Or maybe, if we find a camp, we could stop for a few days."

"We ain't stoppin' at no camp."

"What if they were at the camp and we just passed by?" I protested. "Daryl, they could be _anywhere_. We have to check out every thing in between we come across."

He was back to grunting for answers. For the first mile or so, as Joy had told us, there wasn't a walker—other than those caught in her snares—in sight. By the time we set foot on the asphalt of the highway, my clean skin was soiled with drying blood from a small herd we'd come across halfway there. I swiped the back of my hand across my cheek, feeling the gore smudge.

_What I wouldn't give for another bath and clean clothes._

"C'mon," Daryl urged. He restrung his crossbow, picked it up and settled it on his shoulder. "We gotta keep movin'."

I gulped down a taste of fresh air before I even thought of going after him. Distant moans reached my ears, growing closer and closer. I trotted after my partner, attempting to grab his arm to slow him down—only for him to shake me off with another guttural noise.

"Are we gonna follow this all the way to the end?" I asked.

"Maybe."

"What if we get detoured by a herd or somethin'?"

"Then we'll find 'nother path."

"But we came from the prison that way." I hung a thumb in the opposite direction over my shoulder. "They couldn't have gotten this far yet, right?"

Daryl shrugged. "If Rick's alive, he would get as far from that hellhole as possible."

"And Maggie? Glenn? Michonne? You think they would head this far north?"

"Dunno. Coulda gone south."

"So what are we doin' exactly?"

He glared at me out of the corner of his eye. "Look. You don't wanna follow my lead, you ain't gotta. Ain't nobody told you to stick with me, girl."

"We could already be in South Carolina for all we know, Daryl, and they could be in Florida."  
"Naw. We're crossed the North Carolina border fifty miles back."

"_What_?"

"You didn't see the signs?"

I tossed my hands in the air. "Um, no!"

"Pay attention," he chuffed.

"So, what? We keep goin' north till we cross the border into Canada?"

He kicked at a rock with the toe of his boot aimlessly. "Dunno. Maybe the situation ain't as screwed up there."

"I doubt it."

"So we back to you not wantin' to come with me?"

I bit my lip. "It's not that. Really, it ain't. I just don't wanna lose their trail." Adjusting my backpack, I looked everywhere but at his face. "I'm just so scared that we're gonna the further we get from Georgia."

"The trail went dead while we were _in_ Georgia," he snapped.

"No, it didn't!"

"There won't no point stickin' round when there won't no tracks. We needed to find someplace else."

"Maybe _you _did, but I would've liked to—"

He stomped his foot, "Dammit, _Beth_!"

I felt my lips come together with a pop! It was one of the few times he actually cared to address me by my true calling other than 'girl' or 'you'. This seemed to happen more and more lately. His voice scraped against his throat and his eyes pierced mine through the greasy veil of hair falling over his cheeks. He hovered over me, chest bobbing, jaw clamped, until I stopped trying to protest.

I hated those silent hours that followed when he refused to speak to me. By the time the sun had started to lean towards the west, I was completely fed up.

"Are we thinkin' long term camp or short term? Because I'm thinkin' we find either a basement or a really tall building, secure it, get supplies, and make do for a while."

Daryl retorted, "How many times I gotta tell you? We need to keep movin."

"But didn't you like havin' a roof over our heads last night? It doesn't have to be for a long time, Daryl. Three days, tops." I raised my voice to catch his full attention. "That way we can make a couple of runs and keep goin. Sound good to you?"

He didn't bother to answer to any of my suggestions.

"Just keep up."

* * *

When we weren't fighting for our lives or scavenging for supplies, and we were simply walking along for hours on end, I drifted into a world of memories.

My favorites to revisit always involved Maggie, Mama, Daddy, or Shawn. Jimmy was a fleeting one. Mostly, I didn't remember too much about him other than the fact that he had been my first real boyfriend, and that he'd been terrified to kiss me until we'd dated for three months.

I liked to recall meeting Daryl a lot. I guess it was because he was the only person I got to look at endlessly, and that I had nearly memorized every square inch of the man's face-or maybe it was because it wasn't a pleasant memory and sometimes the pleasant ones made me sick to my stomach they were so sweet.

Rick, of course, I met in a flurry of urgency and panic. Shane, too. I knew immediately that for some reason I wouldn't be very fond of Shane, however, I could tell that Rick was a good man with a moral compass that had simply been shocked by the state of the world a bit. My gut twisted the longer I was around Shane—Shawn always said I had good instincts, I just didn't always put them to use as I should.

I learned that Daryl was different not long after we met. Not the cliche kind of different, just _different._ I'd met plenty of hicks and rednecks in my life because of the town I lived in—but none were reserved like Daryl. None of those other men listened to a sheriff who had taken it upon himself to lead practical strangers to safety. None cared about others like Daryl did.

Daddy didn't want me to mess with "the group" setting up camp on our front lawn. "Give 'em their space, Bethie," he'd urged. "Besides, no point in makin' friends. They're gonna be movin' along the minute Rick's boy can walk."

I didn't necessarily want to get close with any of them. Maggie hung around the Asian boy and a few of the others, mostly helping out when she could because she was bored otherwise. Patricia needed me to keep things running normally about the farm. Jimmy needed me to be the same old sweet, caring, patient girlfriend he'd known all along.

Overhearing bits of conversation from Rick's group turned my insides green. They'd obviously done many things already that you couldn't come back from. They'd seen enough gore and death already to last them decades. Apparently they'd lost a member recently, for they were constantly trekking off into the woods to search for her.

Daddy and Patricia didn't know that I went out to the stream every day. Not to think or to cry, only to sit. To listen, and to pray. The breeze in the trees, the calls of the mockingbirds, and the laughing essence of the water allowed me to lose myself long enough that when I stumbled back up to the fields surrounding the house, I could've sworn I saw Shawn on the porch and heard Mama yelling my name for supper. Sometimes I'd see one of those sick people. Rick and the others called them "walkers", but Daddy refused to think that they were anything but unwell, and needed curing. I never told him that one came after me.

The sun was still noon-high when I decided to leave the stream and make my way back to Patricia. She would want to be planning out what meager meal we could cook for supper. The cellar was quickly emptying itself of our preserves and pickled eggs. Soon, we'd have to send someone else out to hunt since we didn't have Otis around anymore.

I stopped walking to lean against a tree so that I could slip my knife back into the side of my boot—another thing my father didn't know about—when a _whiz!_ erupted past my ear and struck the bark by my cheek. "Oh my God!" I screamed and stumbled back, losing my footing. I plopped hard flat on my butt to catch sight of a squirrel scuttling off into the highest branches of the old oak.

"Hey!" Pissed footsteps followed by an equally angered voice, rough with a backwoods accent and what seemed to be his custom growl. "What the hell are you doin' in my way, girl?!"

My hands wouldn't cooperate and my legs refused to get under me so when the strange man my sister had told me not to even talk to got close enough to stand directly over me, his boots on either side of my ankles, all I could do was shakily retort:

"I was walkin' 'round on _my_ family's land because despite the world goin' nuts it's still a _free_ country, thank you very much, mister."

My snarky little punchline didn't do much to faze him. He yanked the bolt out of the tree with a jerk of his hand and another grunt, tilting his head back to peer up into the greenery where the squirrel hid.

"Dammit!" He stomped his foot, running his free hand over his tangled mess of hair roughly. "Shit."

_Thanks for helping me up, jerk. _I got to my feet, attempting to get the soil off my jeans and where it'd ground into the grooves of my elbows. My stomach was doing that funny queasy thing that it did when I was scared. "Sorry about your dinner."

He shot me the most sour look I'd ever seen over his shoulder as he bent to pull the crossbow's string taught. "Best be sorry. First squirrel I seen all day and you go and scare the damn thing off."

_Just walk away. You don't have to be nice to him. He certainly ain't been nice to you._

I sighed. "My name's Beth."

"Yeah, I know your name, girl."

"Oh. Well, what's your name?"

"Daryl," he mumbled. His dirty hair fell over his eyes when he straightened; he cleared his vision by blowing the stray lock away with a quick gust from his mouth.

"Daryl what?"

The more questions I asked, the more hostile he got. Like a cornered mountain lion.

"Dixon."

I stuck my hands in my back pockets to keep them from fidgeting. "Want me to call you Daryl or Mr. Dixon?"

"Why would you need to call me anythin'?"  
"Because you're livin' on my land and I think we should know each other's names." I gave him the friendliest smile I could manage. "Plus I'm goin' to help you get some dinner."

He glared.

"There's a creek nearby, Mr. Dixon." I withdrew a hand and pointed in the direction I'd come. "Plenty of frogs this time of year. I figured since you eat squirrel, you wouldn't mind frog legs for dinner."

His upper lip curled. "I ain't the official frog gigger of the group. That'd be Shane."

He moved in way I directed anyway.

"I can teach you," I offered, following him though I didn't really want to. "I honestly hate giggin' for frogs but I don't mind teachin' you."

"You think I'm retarded or sumthin'?" he scoffed.

"No. Please, Mr. Dixon—"

"Look." He stopped so hard and so fast I nearly took a second buttplanting. "Stop callin' me 'Mr. Dixon' and stop _buggin_' me, girl. Go run home to your daddy and your sister. I don't need some kid tellin' me how to do things I already know how to do. I never said I won't good at it myself."  
I froze. _Some kid._ I could feel the fire tingling in my cheeks, my tongue lashing against the seams of my mouth. They all thought I had a sweet nature through and through, but God, there were times when all I wanted to do was scream. _I'm not 'some kid' or 'girl'! I'm almost nineteen years old and I can take care of myself!_

"Fine," I whispered. "Sorry I bothered you, Mr.—_Daryl_."

His hideously tart glower softened to the degree that I believed he almost felt guilty for being a total ass to me. His mouth bobbed open and close. My heart beat unsteadily in my chest—the thrill of adrenaline leaving me with nothing but a weak flutter.

"Hope you catch some good ones," I called over my shoulder as I left him behind to try to go back to the house a second time.

He was already stomping towards the creek. But I could've sworn my ears caught a muttered "thanks".

* * *

"Hey."

Daryl hissed a low whistle. I knew instantly to yank my head out of the clouds and get focused. Trotting up behind him to where he'd taken quick cover in the trees, I drew my knife and whispered, "You see something?"

"Heard somethin' moan over there. Didn't think much of it until the whole choir started singin'."

I nodded. "We gonna go straight at 'em or try to go around?"

"We need to keep to the highway-and from the howls, that's where they're headin' to."

I peeked out around his shoulder to watch as a single walker waded out onto the faded asphalt, shortly thereafter followed by another. Then one by one, another biter came to light and shuffled aimlessly across the road.

"We could wait them out," I suggested.

Daryl shook his head; he pointed at one, a woman in a torn and shoddy business suit, who was veering away from her herd and straight towards them, her moans growing louder and louder the closer she got to her supper.

"Doesn't look like that's an option."

I squirmed next to him. The blood from our last encounter with walkers had dried, leaving crusted splatters on my shirt and arms. I took them down because it was necessary, not because I necessarily enjoyed it, like the others did. The female walker only got closer, and her departure began to draw some of her comrades along with her as well.

Daryl readied his bow and set his sights on the walker's forehead. Dead center.

"When I say go," he grunted. "You scatter, ya hear?"

"I'm not leavin' you again," I protested-fleetingly, I recalled the last time he'd made me run while he took on a herd by himself. He'd barely gotten away.

"Girl," he threatened.

"_Man_," I hissed back, raising my knife and locking my stance. He shot me an appraising glare. "Go on. Take her down. I got the next one."

With a roll of his shoulders and a huff, he pulled the trigger, and the arrow hit home on the walker's temple. Her grotesquely deformed body cluttered to the ground. Her comrades quickly trampled her, raising their arms and moaning even louder. Daryl shoved at my shoulder, pushing me back as a walker came out of nowhere on the opposite side of the tree - arms winding, teeth slashing. He bashed its head in against the rough bark just as the walker's fingernails scraped over my elbow.

"Go, go, go!" Daryl shot the next walker after that and pushed me harder. "Shit, go!"

I stumbled back, righted myself, and jerked forward to stab another female under the chin. They were coming fast and hard now; every single walker in the herd had sniffed out the feast and was coming for their early bird supper.

"Beth!" Daryl hollered. He was fighting off three at a time, using nothing the butt of his bow and his bare hands. "Beth, run!"

I gritted my teeth as the thick, gooey blood of my third kill splashed across my face. There was no time to wipe it off or to run away from this situation. I slashed and kicked and stabbed almost robotically, keeping my pace between a walk and a run as the herd pushed us further into the woods and from our path. I lost sight of Daryl in all the commotion - my stomach twisted in panic at the thought of a walker chowing down - but I couldn't stop.

In the middle of it all, with a walker trying to take me down from the front and another tugging at shirt from the side, I felt water pool in my boots. The herd had cornered us at a pond, surrounded by drooping willows and very little daylight. I sheathed my gore-covered knife and grabbed for a broken, huge branch at the lip of the pond and started hacking away with that.

"Beth!"

My heart soared into my throat at Daryl's yell. I finished off the biters and fell into the pool doing so, the freezing wet seeping through my clothes and hiding me from their sight.

_"Beth!"_

More dead hands with black and purple fingernails sliced through the water. I swam deeper until my back hit the shallow bottom. Walkers couldn't swim, but they could float. Desperate bubbles floated from my nose the longer I stayed under, twisting away from their reach the best I could.

Suddenly, the hands were yanked away. I heard violent splashing, the tearing of water around feet, and bodies struggling against each other. Shoving off the sandy bottom, I broke the surface to find the ground surrounding the pond littered with festering corpses. At the water's edge, Daryl was struggling to keep a walker from taking a munch.

"Daryl!" I frantically waded his way, my waterlogged boots and jeans doing nothing to help my speed. The walker - a pudgy man in life, it looked like - had Daryl's head submerged, while my partner's arms were steadily keeping the biter's maw at bay. "Daryl, hold on!"

The walker took notice of me just as I plunged my blade through it's squishy cranium. It gave one last gurgling moan as I heaved it off of Daryl with a weak kick, sending it to lie by the remainder of its herd.

"_Daryl_!"

He hadn't resurfaced. His arms had fallen and he had sunken beneath the dark pool. I scrambled to scoop him up-he was far heavier than he looked with that crossbow on his back-my knees breaking beneath me as I lugged him out of the pond. We plopped in a disgraceful heap next to the fallen walker, his back at my chest and his elbows grinding into my thighs. I grabbed his chin, turned his head to face me, and shoved the dripping hair back from his closed eyes. "Hey, hey, hey. You gotta wake up. You gotta wake up."

I'd never really seen Daryl Dixon in a weak state. He'd taken down dozens of undead on his own, saved lives, hunted, tracked, and survived for years on end in this hell. But now his cheeks and lips were turning indigo and his soaking clothes clung to his slowly starving frame, and it hit me that he could die. Then, there.

_I ain't gonna give up on you._

A small cough sputtered from his blue lips. I started to determinedly pat his back, encouraging him. "C'mon. _C'mon._" A spew of water left his lips, his coughs growing into heavy hacks, and I just barely had enough time to turn him to his stomach before he puked brine and our last meal everywhere. "That's it, that's it. You're okay."

His eyes fluttered opened blearily. "Beth?"

"We're okay. It's okay. You_ \- We_ got 'em all."

His head lolled before I could finish. He passed out - whether from his almost drowning or from sheer exhaustion, I couldn't tell. I hugged him tight to my chest and pressed my chin against the crown of his wet hair. "Thank God." I stripped him of his vest and hurriedly undid the laces of his boots, hoping to get as many saturated items off before he caught pneumonia. Evening was falling around us, which would only bring lower temperatures and more threats now that we were weakened and had nothing to warn us about another attack.

I sniffed back the tears, stopping myself from crying no matter how bad the burning at the back of my eyes got. Swaddling him with my arms, I pressed my legs against his sides, pushing as much of my own body heat into his body as I could. "Thank God. Thank _God._"

_I don't know what I would've done if I lost you too._


	4. Cold River Chances

**So sorry I haven't been able to update! And also, apologies for this short chappie. Gonna post another one tomorrow, fingers crossed! :)**

**Thanks for all the sweet comments, views, follows and favorites!**

**XOXO,**

**OceansAria :)**

* * *

After he awoke with his cheek on my chest, Daryl sprung up in the air like a cat that had been blasted chock full of lightning and refused to utter a word since.

We'd trekked out of the corpse-littered forest with our tails between our legs, soggy backspacks clinging to our half-dry clothes. We kept walking until nightfall and the small fire I'd stoked to cook the squirrels fizzled into embers.

"You need more rest." My voice was scratchy with disuse. "I'll take first watch."

Did he listen to me? No.

We encountered nothing but animals and walkers for a solid six days. We fell into a simple, mindlessly robotic routine: wake up, break camp, walk, take a rest, walk, find something to eat, make camp, sleep, and repeat the process the next day.

The soreness in my body faded to a lulling throb; the calluses on my fingers and toes grew calluses. What few precious hours a night I usually got turned into nothing but the two of us taking turns to stare blankly at the place where the fire had died, pretending we didn't notice the other was awake.

I came to one morning with the idea stuck in my mind to bathe. Shawn used to say, _If a skunk runs away from its own stink, you know its bad._ I'd be lying if I said I understand what he meant then. I surely did now. Daryl hadn't washed properly—besides his near drowning—in three and half weeks; unlike him, I couldn't stand my own stench for so long. Sometimes I wondered if he'd lost his sense of smell.

We'd come across another town two days prior. I'd found an entire stash of soap in one of the mostly looted shops. Daryl had disappeared from camp. Most likely he was hunting or scouting. I made a note with one of the last pieces of blank paper in the back of my journal, stuck it the tree with a spare pocketknife, and set out on my mission.

I knew the water would be freezing, making whatever bath I could manage a quick one. The river wasn't even a full mile from our camp. Glancing around, I made sure I was alone before I began to strip. The air hit my bare skin in pinpricks; water pooled around my toes, the nerve-endings going numb on contact, sending shivers fleeting up my spine to chitter my teeth.

_Okay, just wash and get out before you catch your death._

I stepped further into the river where the sunlight slanted on the surface, finding a slightly warmer spot. The rocks made a sheltered circle here, leaving a sandy bottom full of wildlife that skittered away at the sight of my legs, a cocoon away from the insanity around me. Not far from where I hunkered down was a turbulence of water and a small waterfall. I watched as fish jumped headfirst over the waterfall, giggling to myself when some went tail first instead.

"What in the hell are you doin'?"

I squealed shrilly like a piglet—dropping the soap as I fumbled to wrap my arms over my naked chest. The soap sunk to the dark bottom upon impact.

"Daryl! What are you _doin_' here?!"

"Came lookin' for you." He squatted at the water's edge. Eyes adverted and knife in hand, he picked at the grass by his boot. "Can't you ever stop bein' a beauty queen for ten seconds? We ain't got time for you to rinse, lather, and repeat all the damn time. 'Sides, water's gotta be freezin'."

"It's been a _week_ since Joy's house. Sorry that I feel like retainin' a sliver of my humanity and takin' a bath while you were off doin' God knows what in the woods," I snarked. "Wouldn't kill you to wash, either."

Daryl raised an eyebrow but said nothing. We stared at each other until he turned his head, breaking the connection, and cocked his ear to the side.

"What is it?"

"Shhh. I hear somethin'."

My blood went as cold as the dark water swirling around my waist. "Walkers?"

"Naw. Somethin' else."

I started to wade through the current towards land, hoping that he would get the idea to not look at me. His eyes flicked over my frame almost bashfully—a young boy ashamed of being caught doing something he wasn't supposed to. I chose to ignore the flare of the blush racing over my skin.

"Turn 'round so I can get dressed. I'll go check it out with you."

"No." He stretched to his full height and distractedly ordered, "You stay here."

I squinted at him. "I don't think so. Someone or some_thing_ could grab you while I stood here waitin' for you to come back. Turn 'round. I'm gettin' out."

"Yes ma'am," he answered dryly, doing as I wished.

Once I was dressed, we started in the direction Daryl'd heard the noises from. They reached my ears the closer we got to the road. Rubber on asphalt. The gurgle of a diesel engine.

"Cars," I breathed. "Sounds like a whole troop of 'em."

Daryl kept his bow lowered. "Cars mean people."

"Which I know you ain't awfully fond of." Sparks of hope still formed for me. People meant the possibility of safety, of a camp, and finding our group.

"Nope."

The woods broke clear for the road. I kept on going, looking to my left for the vehicles to materialize so I could identify them—only for Daryl to yank me roughly back into the cover of the trees and shade me under his arm.

"Daryl—"

He tightened his hold. "Hush. They're comin' from the opposite direction." He paused to listen; the engines' gurgling was right on us. "I don't think they saw you. Sure as hell hope not."

I shook free of Daryl the moment he loosened his grip. Spinning to face him, I growled, "They could've helped us!"

"Or they could've blown your head clear off your shoulders 'fore you could flag 'em down."

"You don't _know_ that!"

Daryl sneered, "Are you absolutely sure they would've stopped t'help us?"

"N-No," I stuttered. "But they _could've_. Now they're gone and here we are, stuck in the same crappy situation we've been in for almost a month! Wanderin' around in circles!"

He leaned in close, causing for everything else I wanted to say to stick in my throat. I could feel the way his eyes penetrated mine, sharp as claws.

"We. C_an't._ Risk. It," Daryl emphasized each word through gritted teeth.

A symphony of car horns sounded off in the not-so-far distance. Daryl whipped his head up—our spat forgotten—and grabbed my arm again subconsciously. I squirmed but he refused to let go.

"Those jackasses are gonna draw every walker for a mile makin' all that damn commotion," he mumbled under his breath.

I raised an eyebrow hopefully. "Maybe that's what they're tryin' to do. Draw 'em in and take 'em out."

"Doubt it." He gave the slightest tug to my arm, urging me to follow him as I had done blindly for what felt like an eternity. I didn't budge. "Beth," he coaxed. "We gotta go."

"I'm not goin' no where till we see if I'm right about these people," I demanded. "They could help us! Give us food, water, maybe even one of their cars! We could go back down to Georgia and—"

His dirty fingernails sliced into my skin. "_No_."

"C'mon! If I'm wrong, we'll get as far away as possible, fast. But if I'm right, we're takin' one of their cars and goin' back for Maggie and Glenn." I pursed my mouth and rested my free fist on my hip, hoping that my stance gave off that I meant business. "I've done everything you've asked me to. Why can't you just try this?"

Silence. Pure, thick, unsettling.

I sighed, "I'll go. You can stay here. If and _when_ I get a car, I'll come back for you."

He released his fingers from my arm and curled them into his palm, his hand dropping to his side, every inch of him taut with ill humor. His upper lip rolled. Eyes slitted. In any other situation, I would have backed down.

"Do what you want, girl. I don't care."

I could feel where his verbal dagger hit home in my stomach. Rolling my shoulders and making my back ramrod straight, I gave him the sweetest smile a girl could manage when she felt like screaming her lungs dry, and took my leave gracefully.

"Hey."

_Don't look at him. _"What?"

"I'll be down by the river till the day after tomorrow. Then I'm headin' further north."

Reading between the lines with Daryl was a rocky skill I'd acquired. _Come back when you realize you're wrong,_ was what he really meant.

"Have a good trip!" I hollered without breaking stride. "I hear Connecticut is brutal this time of year."


	5. I'll Be Back

**Hello, my lovelies! Deepest apologies on this update being well over 2 weeks late...had a lot going on lately and finally was able to finish this chappie last night! I bet you'll find several mistakes here and there, so again, I apologize lol. Thanks so much for all the love, kind comments, follows, and favorites on this fanfic so far! I couldn't ask for anything more :)**

**Lemme know what you think of this! Big things ahead for our dashing duo (Lol i sound like something straight out of The Princess Bride-which I finally watched and LOVED, btw)**

**Please let me know if I'm keeping in character with these two or not. Seriously, it would NOT hurt my feelings if you didn't think so! I want to stay as true to the way the creators of TWD made them!**

**Till next chappie!**

**XOXO,**

**OceansAria :)**

* * *

I stayed adjacent to the tree line all the way up the highway to where I'd last heard the car horns. Day rolled towards its end, night slithering into the woods around my ankles. Soon, I'd have to stop for the night if I didn't find the drivers.

_After all of the crap we've been through! Does he just expect me to follow him around like a puppy all the damn time? _I'd been boiling all afternoon over my quarrel with Daryl, and knew that I'd still be pretty pissed with him even when I went to sleep that night.

Voices. Male and female, high and deep. They startled me out of my inner rant. I stopped just shy of crossing over the ditch to the road, deciding to hold back and think up a plan. Obviously, telling them I was alone wouldn't be smart—they could try to take advantage of me, then I'd have to well, _take care_ of them. Telling them I had a camp wouldn't be good either, because the minute they laid eyes on absolutely nothing but wastelands they'd go from sunshine to shit, if they were ever sunshine in the first place.

_So I'll just tell them the truth with a little dash of white lie._ Glancing down at my still-damp clothes, I tugged at my clean ponytail to fray it. _So much for a bath._ I bent and plunged my fingers into the mud at my boots, smearing the stick all over my arms and face, making sure I looked the part of a desperate girl who'd been stuck in the woods too long. I pinched my cheeks though they were already the color of cherries. To top it all off, I had to make myself cry. _Think of something sad. Which shouldn't be too hard._

Daddy's smiling face was the first thing I saw whenever I closed my eyes, then there was a gleaming katana blade, his smile gone, and rivulets of blood cascading down his neck—

"Okay, okay," I gasped aloud, leaning back against the tree. I hadn't realized I was hyperventilating until the sound battering my ears triggered as my own. Tears flowed and hiccups bubbled in my chest.

I was ready.

Bursting through the trees, I startled the flock of people sufficiently for several to immediately raise and aim their weapons at my head. They stood in a rough circle, blockaded on all sides by different models of cars, all painted a matte black. A dirt truck was parked a ways off with a load of walker bodies piled in the back. _Just like I thought! They're like some kind of clean up crew. They're drawing the walkers in and taking them out._

"No, please!" I threw up my hands in surrender. "I'm not gonna hurt you! I—I just need your h-help! My friend—h-he's hurt!"

A short, wiry man stepped forth. His shotgun hung lazily over his chest, resting by the machete hanging at his hip, as if he didn't find me nearly as threatening as the rest of his group did. "Why should we believe you, little miss?"

Anger scratched at my tone. "W-Why would I _lie_ about somethin' like this?! Please! We lost our group and our camp! We have nowhere to go! His leg is broken and I don't know how to set it—"

"Hey, hey. Sweetheart," The man got close enough to touch me and I could actually feel the hairs on my arm recoil. Something about his slicked hair and wide-eyed _trust me please_ gaze made me want to forget the plan and run right back to Daryl. The way this man said 'sweetheart' wasn't anything like the way my friend said it. "You're alright, sugar. We ain't gonna hurt you neither. Just tell us where your friend is and we'll help the best we can."

"R-Really?" I couldn't believe it had been so easy and showing my relief wasn't the best idea. "I-I mean—yes, please! Thank you so, _so_ much!"

The man gave me a small smile. He squeezed my wrist and turned towards his group to call out several names. "C'mon, y'all. You two, go back to ground zero. Let Marx know I'll be late for dinner."

_Dinner_. My stomach yelped eagerly. All I'd eaten lately were stringy rabbits and squirrels. Dinner sounded like biscuits and green beans and mashed potatoes. _Focus, dammit, focus!_ I forced another smile, much like the one I'd given not long before.

"Lead the way, sweetheart," the man ordered. He didn't let go of me even as he set his free hand on the trigger of his gun. "If you're tellin' the truth, we'll do what we can for you. If you're lyin', _you'll_ do what _you_ can for us."

Red alarm lights flashed, tickling at the back of my throat like bile. I gave another eagerly meek nod, held back a branch, and declared, "Follow me."

* * *

James—the short leader—stuck to my side like a slug as I led him and his comrades in the exact opposite direction I'd come from. I knew the woods pretty well; if I took the alternate route and circled back around to Daryl and I's campsite, then hopefully I could steer them clear of Daryl himself, who normally would be hunting for supper at this time in the evening. I then could pull another stunt and maybe, just maybe, they'd buy that my friend had somehow gotten away from me on a broken leg and they'd take me in. I could get them to trust me, give me supplies, help me 'find' Daryl—

"Hey. Sugar, you sure you know where the hell you're goin?"

I shrugged one shoulder. "Um, not really. I've never been good at keeping up with this kinda stuff. My friend's a tracker."

"Heh." James smirked. "Guess you're lost without him then?"

"Oh, yeah. He's kept me safe, fed me, sheltered me." I didn't have to add any emotion behind my words—my gratitude for the good deeds Daryl had committed for me shone through. "I gotta at least try to help him with this."

James reached out and squeezed my shoulder like we were old friends. "Real heart of gold you got there."

"Thanks." I grimaced to the side when James wasn't looking. His people chatted among themselves to our rear, their weapons lowered and eyes carefully aware of the woods surrounding us all. "We should be gettin' close," I said, reaching towards my side to where I'd hidden my knife in the band of my underwear.

"I smell smoke," James confirmed my statement. Despite his grotesque advances towards me—such as holding my hand far too long when helping me over a fallen tree and smiling like a cheetah who'd closed in on a gazelle when I pulled away—his hazel eyes were somewhat superficially pretty in the dimming forest. "Somebody's definitely nearby."

My knee knocked the fishing line strung with cans from bush to bush first. I motioned to James to watch his step. They silently followed my lead into the deserted campsite. Daryl's pack was gone, the fire had been put out, but the torn tarp we used as a tent remained. _Knew it._ He couldn't have gone too far, though. The furthest we'd gone was the river.

"Nice set-up you got here," the single woman of the group commented. "And, uh, where is your friend?"

"Yeah." Another said. "If his leg is as bad as you said it was, he should be resting."

I feigned anxiety. "U-Um, he was _right there_ when I left." I waved my hand at the tarp. "There's no way he could've gotten on his feet and walked away."

James said, "Not without help."

My understanding of his implications burned at my ears. _He thinks I lied. He thinks it's not just the two of us._ There was no time to come up with another white lie to pile on top of the others—James pounced on me like the predator I'd theorized he was, pressing me back into one of the thin trees lining Daryl and I's camp. My breath was knocked clear from my lungs; not a single member of James' group did a thing to stop him as he pushed his face so close to mine that the peach fuzz on his chin whispered over my cheek as he spoke in my ear. His pinkies hooked in my belt loops, his remaining fingers slipping under my shirt to rub over my skin. I swallowed thick and fast, recalling the only other time a guy had touched me like this was when Zack and I had actually gotten to second base at the prison, not long before he was killed—but back then, I'd _wanted_ something to happen.

"Listen to me, you little slutwad. I knew you were lyin' from the second your sweet ass came out of those woods cryin' those adorable crocodile tears. I ain't no fool, and neither is anybody in my group. So whether your friend, or _friends_, are really around or not, you're comin' with us. They'll just have to fend for themselves out here."

_Stay still. Stay absolutely still._

James' rubbed his nose against my cheekbone. "And like I said before, you gonna do what you can for us. Earn your keep." He released my belt loops and took my wrists captive. "Now, you gonna come willingly or am I gonna have to tie you to me?"

_Nod. Don't speak. Nod._

"Great." He didn't free me but he didn't tie me to him. His gaze leered over my frame. He announced loudly, "When we get back, I call dibs for the first few days, fellas."

_Bastard. You disgusting, nauseating, pig-faced bastard._

"Awww," the men moaned in unison, cackling as we turned to start towards the highway. "You better share her after your time is up, Jamie," the woman cackled. "I need an extra hand in the kitchen. We ain't got nobody washin' dishes."

James hand swished down my back and took a rest at my opposite hip. He pulled me closer, and I reluctantly obliged. "I dunno about that, Eleanor. She might be too good to let outta sight."

A bolt whizzed from behind a tree up ahead and landed with a solid _whump!_ in James' kneecap. Blood gushed as he crumpled to the ground, his shotgun going off, bullets flying wildly into the air. "_Shit_!" he bellowed. He glanced back at his group and frantically motioned them to move towards the direction of the bolt's flight. "Go! Damn you, go!"

I drew my knife, my shaking fingers struggling to clamp around the handle. _I gotta get to him. _Rushing the tree, I too almost recieved an arrow to the eye when Daryl popped out, bow blazing and eyes trained on his sights.

"_Daryl_!" He grabbed me and flung me behind him, advancing forward to stand off against the three of James' people still erect. They also had their weapons at the ready, though their hands were quivering like my own. "Daryl, I _had_ this! What are you doin'?! They were gonna help us!"

Daryl barked, "Shut up!"

"Did you _follow_ me _all_ _the way_ here?"

James cut off Daryl's reply; his shotgun hung heavily from his shoulders as he pushed himself upright, scarlet smeared on his hands. He raised one soiled hand in compromise. "So," he grunted. "Your tracker boyfriend here doesn't have a gimp leg after all. Can't believe you sicced him on us like a mutt, sugar."

"I didn't, I swear!" pleading, I inched forward around Daryl. "I didn't know he was here!"

James snorted. "Wow. I can't believe you're _still_ lyin' to my face!" He held out a hand to stop Eleanor from advancing. Her expression was purple with murderous intent.

One of James' men sneered. "I _told_ you, James. Something about her won't all there."

"Hush, Juarez. You ain't part of this." James' once pretty hazel eyes chilled into slits, his top lip curling into sneer like Juarez's. "You think you got the advantage, huh, Terminator? _Wrong_. We're a couple dozen strong back at our camp. And, unless sweet Beth here isn't lyin' after all, it's only _uno_ and _dos_." He pointed lazily, as if the rupturing pain in his knee was transparent, at Daryl and then me. "And our captain, Marx, ain't as much a teddy bear as me."

"Teddy bear, huh?" Daryl growled. "That won't what it looked like t'me when you had your paws all over her."

"You shut your yap, mutt," James chuckled sinisterly. "Now, I can see you're real protective of your girlfriend, man. I understand that—what with all the crazy hell goin' on around us day in, day out—but you know you're not gonna be able to always keep her safe out here on the road. You _know_ it."

Daryl shoved the tip of the readied arrow until it scratched James' nose. Eleanor and Juarez moved forward with the others, calling out, "Hey! Hey, watch yourself, bud!"

I grabbed a fistful of Daryl's vest, clenching it until the leather screeched to keep him from filling James' face with arrows. _Don't do anything stupid. Don't. Do. Anything. Stupid._ Jaurez, a jowly, thick man with a thick black beard and a head full of curl matching black hair, walked closer to James and to us even though his leader had told him not to. His finger was eager on the trigger of his AK-47.

Despite my grip on him, Daryl shifted forward to meet Juarez at the invisible line in the dirt. "Get. _Back._" Daryl threatened.

"Aw, guys," James said. "C'mon. I was gonna offer you two to come back with us anyway. Beth could've at least tried to make it up to everybody for Legolas here screwing my knee straight to hell. You, Mr. Terminator, would be lucky to make it through a week at camp without having your brains blown out by Marx—with that attitude of yours."

I glanced at James, estranged, crumpled, and soaked in blood on the ground. Daryl didn't refrain from keeping Juarez sited but I could feel him glaring rigidly at James from the corner of his eye.

Daryl began, "You say one more thing and I'll—"

Eleanor shot wide, grazing my shoulder instead of Daryl's as she'd aimed for. The shot ringing through the woods sent all the others into frantic motion—Daryl pulled his trigger next and the bolt went clean through Juarez's shoulder, then Daryl swung his fist into the man's gut several times over. Juarez bellowed in anguish and jammed his elbow up into Daryl's face, catching his eye; the remainder of James' party went scampering in every which direction, Eleanor dragging Juarez behind her before Daryl could finish him, both of the anonymous members yelling obscenities.

"We can't leave James! We can't leave James!" Juarez cried out repeatedly.

"We have to!" Eleanor screeched. "_C'mon_!"

Daryl held off from following them. We both knew it was useless. Everything was over and done in under a minute but it felt ten times longer. Relief swelled in my stomach when I could no longer see their four backs.

My legs locked, my tongue drying to sandpaper in my mouth. I felt my shoulder bump the nearest trunk, fire seething over my burst skin. Not even the pain gauged me from paralyzation—but the cocking of a pistol did.

"Daryl, please _don't_."

"Why not?" The butt of his pistol pressed deeper into James' temple. "He almost—" Daryl's eyes, one already flowering purple and blue, wouldn't quite meet mine but stopped somewhere around my chin. My stomach seized at what he was trying to say. _He almost took advantage of you._

"I know." I couldn't will my feet to move. What Daryl could do to that man—no matter if the man was a pervert and didn't deserve mercy or grace of any type—disturbed me. I raised my hands out to Daryl. "I _know_. But we can't—"

Car horns sounded off like music in the distance. Distracted, I listened for one of two possibilites: moans and shuffling, or gunfire and pounding feet.

"Daryl—" Moving towards him, I grabbed blindly. "We need to go." He was solid, nothing but statue when I touched him. "_Daryl_. Please! We need to get out of here! You don't _need_ to kill him!"

My frantic pleading went on until the muscles loosened in his arm beneath my fingers and he stepped back, turning the gun's safety on. A sigh rattled my ribs in relief; nothing had come for us yet. "C'mon," I coaxed again. He shook me off. James wriggled like a snake on the ground at our feet, blood pouring from his kneecap. Bits of bone and tendon shone through. "Daryl."

His ears picked up on the quivers in my voice.

"What? You 'fraid of me now?"

I kept my expression still and my chin raised.

"I haven't _ever_ been afraid of you."

It took him a moment, but he nodded, slipping his pistol into the back of his jeans and dropping his vest over it. I handed him his crossbow from where he'd set it down.

We didn't realize James had rose on his good knee or that he'd pulled his machete. _I_ didn't realize he'd grabbed Daryl by the calf until Daryl _oomph_!ed. It happened so fast yet so slow—one second, we were whole, we were walking away—the next, the man's machete sliced into Daryl's dominant shoulder, drawing a cut deep as a ravine.

I rushed to catch him as he collapsed.

"_Daryl_!"

* * *

**_And so Beth rushes to save her redneck Prince Charming again... :P_**

**_Ignore me I'm just an obsessed fangirl._**


	6. Crimson Stitches

**Hey y'all sorry for the late update! I'm afraid there are some mistakes here and there I forgot to fix but oh well I wanted to get something up here for y'all.**

**Thanks again for all the sweet comments, views, follows and favorites! :)**

**XOXO,**

**OceansAria :)**

* * *

"You have to stay still," I whispered mostly to myself since my patient obviously wasn't listening. The red thread was hard enough to keep track of in the midst of all the blood even when he wasn't squirming. The rainstorm on the way here had been an answered blessing in a way, washing away much of the blood crusting around the wound, and hopefully stalling any kind of infection.

Frustrated, I ground out, "Daryl! _Please_."

He glanced at me, caught my mama bear expression, and did as I said.

"Thank you," I sighed. My hands were shaking enough between exhaustion and hunger, and with him throwing even more stress into the mix . . . it was taking ten times longer than it should have to fix his wound. _The wound that wouldn't have happened if you'd just listened to him and left well-enough alone._ Oh yeah. Guilt was tearing me apart too.

"So why were all y'all blarin' your damn horns?" Daryl questioned our captive. He'd been swigging a half-empty bottle of rum we'd found weeks ago but never touched for the past half hour. He held his liquor good; his words weren't even running together in slurs yet.

James continued to keep his mouth shut. He hadn't said anything other than lengthy curses the entire way to the sanctuary we chose for the night, a cave by the river just the right size to hold the three of us uncomfortably,. I'd torinqued James' knee with a few strips of cloth from one of our moth-eaten blankets; I knew it wouldn't smooth things over but I had to try.

"Hey." Daryl knocked his boot against James' injured knee. James bit his lip and grunted, glaring dangerously. "I asked you a question."

I'd stayed out of their uneven exchange for as long as I could. The cut in Daryl's shoulder stretched from his trapezius to his pectoral. Once we'd gotten settled, I'd helped strip him of his outer layers and shredded his shirt to use as bandages later. James had been knocked out at the time thanks to Daryl, who's left arm still worked perfectly.

"_Answer me_," Daryl growled. When James once again refused, Daryl kicked harder at his knee. "Punk ass bitch." He tipped the bottle back to take another swig but I grabbed it before a drop could grace his lips. We exchanged glowers until I dumped the remainder of the rum on my sewing.

Daryl gritted his teeth, bucking his hips and pressing his back into the stone wall. "Dammit, Beth!" he hissed.

"S-Sorry," I stammered. "Had to make sure it was sterile. It'll help numb it too."

"Yeah, well. Next time, warn somebody before you go burnin' the hell outta 'em."

I puckered my lips and set the bottle aside. James' own glare ironed into the side of my face as I continued on with my work. _Steady hands there, Bethie. You're not gonna add anymore pain than what he's already got. Take your time but don't draw it out. See? You're doing great. _Daddy's phantom encouragements at the back of my mind was the only thing getting me through the rattling process. That and the repetitive mantra I'd chanted since I began: _Get it done and then Daryl can rest._

It took another teeth-gritting hour full of swearing before the wound was completely sutured. The two men had argued until I'd made them clam up—earning one look of respect and the other full of malice—and now that James had turned onto his side and faced the wall to sleep, getting Daryl to rest was the last thing on my checklist. He sat uncomfortably propped still, exhaustion-weary eyes locked on the enemy and injured arm cradled against his middle. Sinking to my knees, I offered my water bottle.

He didn't take it.

"Hey," I sighed, taking a sip and sitting by his side. "You need to sleep."

Crickets. Literally all I could hear were crickets and frogs aligning in harmony outside the cave.

"Daryl, I can hold down the fort while you sleep."

I'd cleaned up the blood as much as possible, but everything he owned was tainted by it. _Once the rain stops, I can take his clothes down to the river and wash them. Maybe we can find him some new ones._ As usual, I was cautious when it came to skin-to-skin contact with him; earlier it hadn't been so hard, that was life or death—but now, in the stillness, I wished to reach out to him like I had at Joy Willis' house. To let him know I was there, and to apologize.

My fingers skimmed his arm and he didn't jerk. I took that as a good sign. Extending my touch, I gained his free hand's fingers lightly.

"Daryl, I'm so sorry. You gettin' hurt was all my fault. I was stupid. I shouldn't have gone after those people—I should've _listened_ to you. You've never done a thing but help me—"

Midsentence, he let go of my hand, not that he'd been holding on to it anyway. He hadn't looked at me since I sat but now his face was a complete one-hundred-eighty degrees turned from mine. I didn't let anything get to me; this was just the way Daryl was, an emotionless shell other than a few angry outbursts here and there, with the tiniest bit of compassion dashed into the mix when he felt like it.

I stood and made for the front of the cave so that I could keep one eye on our surroundings and the other on James. Daryl never lied down. He rested on and off until the sun cracked through the haze of furious storm clouds at dawn and I had to change his bandages.

"So what's the plan with James?" I dared to ask as I checked my stitching. _Phew. It's still holding up. Thank God._

Daryl shrugged his good shoulder. "Ain't decided yet."

"We can't take him with us."

"We can't surrender him to his people either. They see us again . . . we ain't gettin' away so easy."

"Easy?" I scoffed, running my fingers over the shredded shirt I was using as bandages in emphasis. I didn't allow him to see the quiver that raced down my spine. "I'm afraid you're gonna have a pretty big scar."

His voice rumbled in his throat but didn't make it out his mouth. I glanced at our captive, fighting the urge to check his bonds. Daryl's heavy breathing filled the cave, along with the stench of perspiration, copper, and wet cloth. I dug around in my pack for the only remaining can of soup; retrieving my knife from my side, I split the can open and offered it to Daryl first. He accepted with his good hand and took a swig then passed it back.

We'd finished our meal by the time James lifted his head, the right side of his jaw painted black and blue from Daryl's boot, and eased himself into a sitting position against the opposite wall. He clutched his bandaged knee; the cloth was soaked through.

"Oh, good," he gasped. "Dinner time. I'm starvin'."

Daryl answered, "You ain't gettin' anything till you tell us about your camp and your people."

"Specifically what y'all were doin' ridin' up and down the roads," I chimed in. I'd seen the truck full of walkers, sure, but I was still curious as to whether they were doing it for good or not so good reasons.

James leveled eyes with us both. If I hadn't known better I would've sworn I was looking into the eyes of an electric eel. His bruised jaw clenched, the tendons popping out along his neck and temple.

"Then I guess I'll go hungry."

* * *

Tossing James against the abandoned sedan like he was a bag of trash made me feel better than I thought it would. He gritted his teeth and hissed in pain, clutching his shattered kneecap, cursing more colorful than I'd ever heard.

"Here." Daryl handed me a pair of zip ties from his pack and I set to work tying Jame's wrists to each of the car handles. It had taken three days for Daryl to heal sufficiently enough so that we could move on from the cave by the river. I'd used what we had left of the bandages to strap his arm to his chest so he couldn't move it and destroy the stitching I'd worked so hard to keep together. His crossbow rested adjacent over the bandaging; I carried both of our packs, which wasn't hard since we had no more food.

"Well color me impressed," James spat, his sneer close to my cheek as I yanked at the zip ties to make sure they were good and tight. "You're gonna leave me here—let some roamer rip into me like a mangy dog, huh?" His lips brushed my skin. "Never thought a sweet goody two shoes like you would let a man die so horrible, baby."

I glared at him as I stood; if looks could kill, I sure as hell wished mine would. "We would've taken you back to your camp but you wouldn't tell us where it was."

"'Cuz I didn't trust you," our captive snarked. "You really think I would trust you after what your friend here did to me?"

"We wouldn't have hurt anyone there," I declared.  
"Unless they tried somethin'," Daryl said.

"They wouldn't have _tried_ nothin'," James growled. I hadn't ever seen a human bare their teeth the way he did. "They would've put a whole freakin' magazine into you but that'd be about it."

Daryl touched my shoulder. "Let's go. They could pop up any second."

"We should at least give him some water or—"

"He don't deserve no water. He don't even deserve _this_."

"_Thank_ you," James piped up sarcastically.

"Naw." Daryl shook with besieging rage from head to toe. "I meant I should've put that damn bullet through your damn brain." His upper lip and fists curled. He bent at the waist, face mere inches from James'. "I shoulda _left_ your dumb lily-white ass there to _rot_."

James chuckled boldly, "Ooh. Think I pissed my pants a bit there, Legolas."

I could see the muscles flare up in Daryl's back and arms. It was always instant—the tension, the nagging urge to beat something senseless—when something provoked him. With his good hand, he grabbed James' by the soiled collar and yanked him up until the plastic zip ties sliced into the man's wrists and ripped curses from his throat.

"We're leavin' you here because Beth wouldn't _let_ me leave you in that cave. We're leavin' you here _outta mercy._ If I had it my way, I woulda found a herd of walkers and _thrown you_ to 'em _myself_."

I knew he wouldn't hurt James . . . too much, but I didn't tug at him this time or tell him to come on. He slammed James back against the metal, finished with his rant, and rolled his good shoulder.

"C'mon, Beth. We've wasted enough daylight on him."

I consented with a small nod that went unseen, for he'd already taken off north down the highway. The fiasco with our captive had set his wound to bleeding again; the crimson blood staining his bandages a beacon for walkers all around. I looked at James, who in turn glowered up at me. I returned the favor with a flip of the bird.

He snorted. "Go on, sweet thing. Do as your boyfriend says."

Forget looks—I wished I could strangle the very breath from that man without a single regret.

* * *

I had to force Daryl to rest several times throughout the day, which, of course, slowed us down efficiently. We hadn't made it six miles by the time he announced we should find somewhere to make do for the night. We never did get to rest that night—Jame's people's cars started to race up and down the highway in the early evening, possibly in search of him, drawing walkers from out of the darkest, deepest parts of the woods. By the time morning came, Daryl had bled through three sets of bandages, all of which had been used prior and washed hastily before using again. His stitches hadn't torn too much in the mix but they were holding together by sheer will.

"I gotta get you somewhere safe so I can redo these," I told him when we finally had a second to catch our breath. "And get more bandages. Maybe some medicine."

"Thought you gave me medicine already."

"I did. But aspirin ain't goin' to stop your wound from getting infected out here. Just numbs the pain a little."

He chuffed, "Not much."

"We need to find another town. Somewhere to stay until you get better."  
"I'll be alright." He shoved off the boulder we were using as a bench then, pulling his shirt over his exposed shoulder. "First things first—we need food. You stay here, set up camp. I'll find us some grub."  
"_Daryl_." I stuffed the soiled bandages into the emptier pack, slinging that over the other. "You can't hunt right now. You do anything, _anything_ to mess up your stitches or get infected, and I don't know if I'd be able to do it again or—"

"Like I said, I'll be alright."

I stomped my foot. "Why don't you listen to me?"

"Why don't you listen to me?" He held out his crossbow to me. Hesitant, I took it gently from him. He smirked, drawing his knife. "I'll be fine. Set up camp near that creek we passed a ways back. Keep an ear and an eye out for James' friends. Should be back by noon."

"Daryl—"

"You need me, scream bloody murder, you hear?"

I had to fight a smile; that phrase made me think of Joy Willis' house, and the way his face had fallen when I'd used those words in the same context.

"I will."

Worry ate at me while he was gone. I made do with what I could to set up camp: got a fire going, strung up what few cans we had around the perimeter, boiled water, set up our tarp and bedrolls. Engines purred and roared in the distance, etching the anxiety deeper into my gut and enmity boiling under my skin. I got the feeling that James had been found. I also got the feeling that if we didn't find somewhere to hole up a ways from the highway and James' people's territory, they would find us and do much worse than zip tie us to a Buick.

Daryl returned with a couple of squirrels slung over his shoulder in the afternoon. When I asked him how he'd gotten them without his bow, he modestly answered, "Threw the knife, is all." He skinned and I roasted, and we ate quickly. The meat did little for my stomach but at least I didn't feel lightheaded anymore.

"Can hear 'em."

"What?"

"Walkers."

I lifted my head from the worn fabric of my bedroll. The tarp blocked out the chilling autumn air, but not every noise the woods created.

"They close?"

"Not yet."

"Should we pack up?"

"Naw. Stay put."

"Okay." I resettled, curling my knees further into my body. "Think they'll come after us?"

"Maybe."

"We should find somewhere, Daryl."

"We're fine right where we are."

"No. We should find someplace safe until this blows over."

I thought he'd left, passed out, or simply ignored me—but then he obliged to a reply.

"We'll find something tomorrow."


	7. Pause Button - Author's Note

_**Hello, my dears! I'm so sorry there hasn't been an update in a solid two weeks but I'll admit-I'm in a funk. It always happens like this: I get an idea, have a creative high for a few weeks, and then I fall into Funky Town where everything I draw and/or write SUCKS. So I will definitely try to update this tale in the very near future, but first, I need to set my sights on a mile-high stack of schoolwork I need to do so I can finish for the year. Again, my deepest apologies on hitting the pause button. I hope to be back within a month with another couple of chapters for y'all :)**_

_**Y'all are the best!**_

_**XOXO,**_

_**OceansAria**_


	8. Frost

Tomorrow came, and with it, more rain.

"And so it rained for forty days and forty nights," I muttered. Rain always made me think of Noah and the Ark; especially how my Sunday school teacher, Mrs. Barber, always told it. She used funny voices and made different sounds for each animal mentioned.

_Is it strange that I'm relieved she'd died of a heart attack six years before the world ended?_ If it was, I didn't care.

I rolled up my bedding and stuffed it in my pack alongside Daryl's bedroll and the tarp. Daryl gathered the cans and fishing line, waited till I had my packs on, stored everything, and zipped me up. I dragged my ponytail out from under a strap where it'd gotten caught. "What's the plan? Go north still?"

"Walkers pushed us east yesterday." The rain, though a drizzle, was already soaking our clothes and heads, his long hair sticking to the back of his neck. "Let's keep north east and see what we can see."

"Sounds good. How long you think the rain will follow us?"

"Dunno."

"From the looks of the clouds, a good while."

"We best stay under the cover of the trees, then."

"Yup." I bit my lip. "And if we come across a town or a house, we're gonna stop, right?"

"Right."

* * *

"Have you ever had a girlfriend?" I asked Daryl when there hadn't been a walker to kill for a while, and nothing but greenery and the birds to keep us company. I'd tried and failed to begin a game of _I Spy_ with him. We hadn't seen head nor tail of James' or his buddies, but I could tell Daryl was still on red alert, never once getting any closer than twenty yards close to the road. In the silence without motors, we could hear plenty of moans not far behind. Another herd was gathering; they'd caught the scent of fresh blood and had taken to it like hounds.

He sent me the weirdest, most annoyed look possible.

"Oh! Or, you know, I'm sorry I didn't mean to assume that you were—"

"Ain't got no sugar in my tank," Daryl grunted with a short chuckle, softening quickly. "And naw, I haven't."

"Oh." I knew my cheeks were the color of the wild rose bushes we were passing by at a molasses pace. "Sorry."

"Don't mean I ain't ever been with a woman."

I chewed at my inner cheek to keep from bursting into giggles. "Oh." That single word seemed to be the only response I could think of. "I've never been with anyone like, like _that_."

"Mmm," he grunted, seemingly unsurprised.

I toed at the dirt. Blood's metallic tang filled my mouth the longer I chewed on my cheek. "What's it like? _Being_ with someone."

Daryl kept his trap shut for several saunters. Finally, he attempted to shrug his good shoulder.

"Ain't nothin' special."

"Really? There's movies completely dedicated to, well, _that_. How can it not be special?"

"Look, I ain't gone discuss that with some young girl."

I crossed my arms and hugged myself. "That's what Maggie said. 'You're way too young'. 'Mama will talk to you about it when you're older'. Yeah, guess what? I'm practically grown up here." I eyed the stiffness forming in his limbs. "So nothing special happened for you? _Ever_?"

No reply.

I huffed playfully, "For Heaven's sake! It's not like I'm askin' you to demonstrate."

Realizing what I said a minute too late after it left my lips, I skidded to a stop. Daryl's shoulder muscles had twisted into complete knots and he didn't stop with me, his boots making sucking noises as he trudged on through the mud ahead.

The blush that had tickled my face earlier went into full bloom. I hugged myself tighter and tighter until my ribcage throbbed in objection. All I could suddenly think about was what it would be like to have something special, so deep and intimate, with somebody—yet I was also thinking if Daryl's scruff would scratch terribly if I kissed him.

Shaking myself out of it, I hollered, "Daryl." He was getting smaller in the distance. "Daryl! Hey, wait up!"

As per usual, he didn't care to slow for me.

"Keep your voice down. C'mon. I think I see somethin," he called back.

* * *

"I said we were saf_er_, not safe."

I squinted up at him. The midday, gloomy sunlight burned my retinas something fierce. The place Daryl had seen in the distance was an crumbling daycare facility, circumferenced by a rotting playground with ten foot high cement walls painted all over of smiling suns and puffy white clouds.

"This is still a lot better than being on the ground with James and a herd on our tails."

"Damn straight," Daryl muttered. He hopped down from his perch and strode over. "But we can't put all our faith into a few slabs of concrete and some wooden boards."

"So what should we do?"

"Stay put for a couple days. Scrounge up what we can in the surrounding area."

"You think it'll take the herd that long to pass through?"

"It's gettin' cold—they move slower."

I nodded, biting my tongue as I stacked firewood in Daryl's arms. We'd found a dead tree right outside the daycare's boundary and luckily enough, no one had touched the axe encased in glass next to the fire extinguisher. Since Daryl was out of commission, I was the one to take up the job.

"Seems like there's more of them out there lately."

"Yeah."

I raised the axe and hacked the stump of wood. "You think . . . you think there's not as many of, you know, humans out there now?"

He glanced around cautiously even though he knew we were currently fairly safe.

"Dunno."

He rested against the building's side, waiting for me to give him the remainder of the wood. As I chopped, I daydreamed away. The cement walls and iron gates blocked the moans and the scratching noises well enough that I could tune it out without much concentration.

"Daryl?"

"What?"

I licked my lips and swallowed, hoping I sounded convincing.

"We should live here."

He looked up only to look away again quickly. "We are."

"_No._ I mean stay here. Find more people. Good people. Bring them back here, start a good place. Maybe we could find Rick and Maggie—"

I stopped hacking the wood. He was glaring at me like I had cussed him out and stomped on his mama's grave.

"How many times I gotta tell you, Beth?"

"It's just that—"

Daryl pushed off the wall and bent to start grabbing what wood I'd cut seconds before. "We can't and we _ain't _stayin' nowhere for longer than we got to. Better to keep movin'."

"Why?"

"_Because_."

"Because of what?"

"Because I _said_ _so_."

"Who said you were in charge in the first place?"

He tossed the wood into my empty arms. "I ain't in charge."

"Sounds like you think you are."

"I _ain't in charge._ And neither are you. We're the same."

"Sure don't seem like it."

This brought on the pointed fingers, the locked jaw, and the signature scowl I always knew came along with a confrontation against Daryl Dixon. His nose got so close to mine I could smell the drying blood on his bandages.

"Well if _someone_ didn't man up and _make the hard decisions _we woulda been long gone by now."

"What 'hard decisions'?" I challenged.

He growled, "Decisions like not stopping at_ every damn_ house or possible refuge along the way to see if your sister was there or not."

"I didn't want to stop at _every_ house—"

"Slowin' us down from actually gettin' to safety ourselves—that's all we need to be worried about, Beth, _ourselves."_

_"_So you're tellin' me you haven't once wondered if we passed right by our group because you made a 'hard decision' and kept movin'?"

"No! 'Cuz I won't gonna waste my time bein' concerned over people who're already dead!"

"_Why_? Why would you _say_ _that_?"

"What's it matter?"

"They're our _family_!"

"They _were_ our family!"

"Why can't you ever just have a lick of hope? All you say is that they're dead, they're gone, they ain't never comin' back!"

"Cuz they ain't!"

"Then how come you aren't as broken up about it as me?!"

"I ain't like you!"

"You mean because I think it's okay to actually mourn those we lost?"

"Naw I mean 'cuz I don't blubber about stupid shit all the freakin' time!"

The cut wood in my arms tumbled to the cement between us and that's when I realized Daryl had backed me against the wall. Tears and snot clotted on my face; I wanted to smack him, I wanted to punch him clear across the jaw until he was unconscious, I wanted to screw my fingernail into that healing wound until he took back everything he'd said.

I shoved at his chest until I had enough room to get away.

"Hey—" His voice wasn't remorseful at all. It was irritated, pleading for me to see eye to eye with him.

"Know what, _Mr. Dixon_? You can go screw yourself for all I care."

* * *

The handprints were each a different shade, though you could tell pink was a famous color among the little girls. I traced each little finger with my index nail, reading the names like they were sacred—which, in this world, they were. _No telling what happened to these sweet children._

"Jenna," I read off. "Emma. Caroline. Maya. Hope."

I hated his habit of sneaking up on me, yet I knew it was one he would never break.

"What do you want, Mr. Dixon?"

Attempting not to seethe each word wasn't an easy task.

He strolled over and met me at the wall in the 2-4 year old's room. The air was so frigid in this room, without sunlight to warm the atmosphere, I could see his every breath.

"What're doin'?"

I snatched my hand off the wall and crossed my arms defensively.

"Just readin'."

"Beth."

"What?"

He looked at me. Just _looked_ at me. My pulse stopped and started again; hours ago, I was wondering what it would be like to kiss him. Thirty minutes ago I'd wanted to kick him in the jewels and stomp away like a brat—which I actually _had_ done the last part. Searching my conscience, I realized there was no way or form of malice there for Daryl. I'd forgiven him almost instantly. My childish side just loved to hold a grudge.

Untwisting my arms, I took his hand in mine and with my opposite hand, I brushed the dirt and blood crusted hair from his eyes, relishing in the fact that I had made him practically paralyzed—yet it terrified me how much I loved that feeling.

When my lips touched his cheek I suspected him to jolt out of his skin and skitter from the room—he didn't. I lowered back to my true height and said, "I forgive you."

He dipped his chin in acceptance.

"I—uh, came in here to tell you dinner's ready," he said.

_Good Lord please stop my cheeks from turning into embers._

God didn't listen to my pleas; I could feel the fire rage from the apples to my hairline.

"Oh," I breathed meekly, willing my hand to release his; my fingers had turned to stubborn steel and my brain was helpless to make them move.

Luckily, Daryl hadn't lost control like I had. He wiggled out of my hold and put some space between my lips and his cheek.

"But thanks," he mumbled. "I guess."

* * *

What wood we didn't use for our fires we made into more efficient barricades on the exits. We stayed quiet during the day, working quietly alongside one another and taking turns to go on runs. It had taken a lot of begging but Daryl had finally consented to let me go outside the daycare's walls without him. His shoulder was taking far longer than it should to heal—which worried me into thinking he had an infection. I cleaned out nearly every place with a lick of medicine in the surrounding areas, feeding him pills no matter how he felt about it. I had to get him better. I had to.

"We've been here too long," he up and said one day when I was readying for another run. Though I'd taken the stitches out days before, I still demanded he keep his arm in the makeshift sling and not jolt it too much if he could help it. Which equalled him staying still which equalled a constantly pissy Daryl. He sulked around the premises like an offended cat.

"What makes you think that?"

"It's frosted twice. When we got here, summer was endin'. Now we're smack dab in the middle of autumn."

"So?"

"_So_ we agreed we wouldn't stick 'round."

I was so over arguing with him on this subject it actually made me nauseous when he brought it up. Tightening my lips into an unbreakable line, I finished pulling on my boots and sweater and got up off the rickety bench.

"I need you completely better first," I allowed to slip out. Things had been slightly awkward since I kissed him on the cheek, yet not so much as to us never communicating as we had before _that_ again.

"I am." To prove his point, he snatched off his sling and tossed it aside. Swinging his arm around, he tugged at the neck of his shirt to expose the angry, blistered, half-opened line of skin a few inches from the base of his neck. "See?"

It took even more control than I naturally possessed to halt myself from retrieving the sling and putting it back on him. I blew the stray wisps of hair out of my eyes with a huff.

"Would it make you happy to come on this run with me?"

"Yeah."

"Would you do everything I asked?"

He snorted. "No guarantees."

I considered it before I replied.

"Then, no."

"What? Why?"

"I ain't gonna have you out there messin' up all the work I've done on your shoulder, and jeopardizing your health." I rested my fists on my sides. "It's infected. Badly."

"There ain't never been no good kinda infection."

"We can't go anywhere till you get better. Last time, you were runnin' off adrenaline and shock. And fumes for that matter."

Daryl locked eyes with me, engaging me, and when I rose to that challenge, a smirk curled the edge of his lips. He threw his hands up in surrender.

"Fine, mama bear. Whatever you say."

My heartbeat roared in my ears like a tsunami pounding the shore. "Thank you." I would never adjust to his mood swings or lack of emotion at all sometimes. Picking up his crossbow—he'd allowed me to take it up since he couldn't and he had been training me some since the prison fell—I strapped it across my shoulders. Daryl followed me to the gate, let me out, and secured it swiftly behind me, leaving me alone with the dead and the gray, dying woods housing them.

I'd been taking the same route west, however, I switched paths and took east today. I knew there were several houses I'd already scoured through for supplies, but today I wasn't just on the hunt for medicine and food. Today I was looking for a few things a little less vital, a little more specific, and a little more frilly.

Whenever I walked I wished for my iPod. I'd had a Shuffle. It had been a big deal; Daddy, of course, wasn't in favor of technology that wasn't absolutely necessary. I only knew a computer existed because we had ancient ones at school. The iPod had been a gift for my eighteenth birthday. Mama told me that night when we had parked ourselves on the porch swing with our second slices of homemade lemon pound cake how hard it had been to convince Daddy to consent on the iPod. "Sweet pea, if I hadn't been there, he wouldn't have known what in the world it looked like," she'd said, laughing. "He thought it was one of those laptop thingies. That salesman probably had himself a good ole' giggle when we left."

I knew I was supposed to be careful, but I couldn't help myself. The silence killed me. _"_O, my love is like a red, red rose, That's newly sprung in June: O, my love is like the melodie, That's sweetly play'd in tune," I sung under my breath as I stepped carefully over a series of risen tree roots. "As fair art thou, my bonnie lass, So deep in love am I. And I will love thee still, my dear, Till a' the seas gang dry."

I'd finished the tune by the time I set foot in the first house: a two story colonial that seemed misplaced in such a secluded region. I'd spun the tale of the family that used to live here upon my first visit. A mother, a father, and three darling girls. One with dark hair, one with blond, and one with a mix of brunette and strawberry. They grabbed their things and left in a flurry of panic, hoping to be saved by a refugee camp. I always hoped they did make it.

Normally, I went for the pantry and cupboards, instead, today, I went for the china cabinet. Rummaging around in the magazine basket by the armchair, I plucked several newspapers and set to work wrapping the dishes and stashing them in my pack carefully. When I finished there, I found the master bedroom and shuffled through a few drawers before I found what I was looking for.

"Perfect," I commented aloud. "He'll love it."

_I hope._

I started the Scottish tune over again on my way back to our slice of paradise, not able to resist the smile beaming across my face even when I ran into a walker that could've quite possibly been the mother in my imaginary tale.

I had a birthday party to plan.


	9. Making Tracks

**"Okay, _look_—before you say anythin', I know it's stupid, alright? I know you wouldn't've wanted me to—which is why I didn't ask—but _I_ wanted to."**

Daryl raised both eyebrows and fiddled the toothpick in his mouth with his tongue, contemplating me to see if he was now allowed to step into our camp. He had gone to get fresh water and given me just enough time to set up the meekest birthday banquet known to man. Beans, beef stew (barely expired), blackened trout (still warm), and a half-drunk bottle of liquor sat nestled by the fire, a hastily wrapped gift thrown in the mix. I stepped aside and allowed him to view my work, anxiety wiggling in my gut.

"What's all this?"

"A birthday party. _Kinda_. I mean, it's just you and me but I still figured that everyone deserves a birthday party, y'know?" I kept my eyes glued to him as he slung his belongings off his shoulders and under the tattered tarp we used as a tent. "I found everything myself and the liquor came from that last run we did and—"

"A birthday party?" Daryl settled on a small rock we'd been using like a stool across the fire.

I took my place closer to the food so I could serve him. "Mmm-hmm."

Then he went and said something I wouldn't have ever thought he'd allow out of his mouth:

"Ain't never had one."

My heart, if possible, shriveled. Ever since we burned down that moonshiner's cabin, Daryl had been a lot more open, more easy-going. He hadn't been warm and fuzzy or sugary-sweet, but he'd eased off on being such a hardass and taken to throwing a nice word in here and there during my hours of babbling.

"Well," I smiled. "I hope I make your first one memorable."

I served the food on the china plates and poured fresh water into the cans we used as cups. Daryl didn't wait for me to serve myself before he dug in. Once we'd eaten and I'd cleaned the plates and set them aside to dry, I thrust my gift into his arms and urged him to open it.

"What is it?" he shook the package by his ear playfully. "Hope it ain't fragile."

I scooted closer to him, laughing, "No. It's not." He eyed me and I nudged him. "C'mon! Open it."

The rotting newspaper I'd used to wrap the gift tore easily and within seconds Daryl had unveiled the shirt I'd snagged at the moonshiner's cabin before we turned it into ashes. The elbows and collar were moth-eaten but nothing I couldn't fix with a bit of thread and a needle.

"Thanks," Daryl muttered, refolding it to set to the side.

"You're welcome." I picked up the liquor. "Here, you get to take the first sip."

Unscrewing the cap, he took several swigs and passed it back. We sat there taking turns with the liquor until the buzz hit our veins and minds and tongues, until we were lying on our backs and the last few drops in the glass was ambrosia slipping down our throats.

"Jack and Jill went up the hill to fetch a pail of water, but Jack fell down and broke his crown and Jill came tumblin' after . . ."

As my voice faded into the night air, Daryl's rose.

"You know it ain't really my birthday today."

"Yeah. I know."

"Why'd you do it, then?"

"Like you said. I know it's stupid…"

"Won't gone say that."

If I hadn't been so drunk I would've noticed the blush that came on strong.

"Happy birthday, anyway. Early or belated."

Dew had fallen sometime during the evening; I could feel it on my cheek when I turned my head, my vision a kaleidoscope, and reached over for his hand as I had many a time in the passing weeks. He didn't hesitate—either because of all the liquor in his system or because he was used to it. Our clasped hands lie on the wet grass.

"So since I got you a present you have to give me one now."  
"That so?"

"Yup. And I choose crossbow lessons."

"You really are a happy drunk."

"And tracking lessons."  
He chuckled.

"What?"

"Just know you ain't gonna give up till I give in."  
"Got that right."

"Fine," sighed Daryl, resting his available arm behind his head. "When you wanna start?"  
"Tomorrow morning."

"You'll be hungover."

"Tomorrow afternoon?"

"Deal."

* * *

**I didn't forget about the lessons like Daryl so obviously hoped I would. By the time I'd cleared my head—and stomach—of the liquor, I was about to jump out of my skin, itching for action.**

"Why don't I go with you to hunt for dinner? That way I can learn how you track and you can teach me about the crossbow along the way."  
"Can't have you chitter-chatterin' and scarin' off all the food," he said.

"I swear I'll stay quiet."

He just looked at me, eyebrow raised.

"I _swear_ I will."

And so that's how we ended up in the middle of the woods in the latest part of the afternoon right before evening came again looking for a wild pig I'd shot. The bloodtrail had gone cold nearly half and hour ago but Daryl insisted I learn to track without that obvious clue. It was literally a wild pig chase.

"See that there?"

I squinted over the sight on the crossbow to where he pointed. "The branch?"

"It's been broken. Pretty recent."

"Could've been a walker."

"Naw. They move too slow to break it."

"Look." I squatted by the bush, pushing aside the splintered limb, and revealed the unmistakable tiny hoofprint. "It did come through here."

We found further tracks down the unbeaten path. Daryl took the crossbow back; I drew my knife when I heard the rather close moans and shuffles of a small herd. If they were nearby, they could've gotten to the pig.

What we found was nothing like we were expecting. Even I wouldn't have been surprised to find the undead feasting on the only chance at full bellies we had at the moment. The woods thinned into a clearing, and in that clearing, the moans escalated to a near-constant refrain of misery.

The walls, made of cut-down trees and sharpened to points, were taller than the cement fences at the daycare center we'd stayed in. A gate, proud and stern in its days of use, hung open, maw-like. Daryl and I froze at the threshold of the clearing.

"It's a camp," I whispered.

A walker, a business woman in life from her attire, stumbled past the gaping entrance, stopped, turned, and set out towards us.

Daryl shot the walker through the eye before she could get too close. "It's been overrun."

"We should check for survivors."

"Ain't no use. From the looks of it, there ain't no one left in there still human."

"What if there is? And we just stroll on by?"

I didn't allow him to answer. Striding forward, I cautiously entered the camp with my knife raised and shoulders squared. I could feel Daryl at my heels. Stepping forth into the camp brought on a stab of despair—walkers were everywhere. I hid behind the roughly hewn steps that led up to a watch tower. Remains scattered the premises and those who hadn't been consumed were roaming among their murderers. What appetite I'd had before was now gone.

I clutched my stomach and stumbled backwards.

"We should go," Daryl insisted.

"No," I said. "We have to look in the tents. Just in case."

He didn't argue. The tents were spread out in military-like precision, lined up perfectly in rows of five by three. Many were falling or torn or tainted. Unlit lanterns swung eerily in the breeze. Advancing caused commotion; the walkers zeroed in on our scents and moaned louder. By the time I reached the first tent with Daryl guarding my back, brain juice had soiled my shirt and jeans.

"Anyone in there?"

I scrunched my nose up at the fly-ridden corpses.

"No."

Each tent either contained a corpse or a freshly turned walker. Night was inching up on us so I grabbed a pair of lanterns and struck a match hurriedly. Light might attract them but working in darkness only risked our lives more.

The wail was a sharp edge in the midst of the moans. Rushing towards the sound with Daryl protesting behind I tore open the tent flap and went inside. Curled up in a sleeping bag was a child, not nearly three years old, crying hysterically.

"Beth," Daryl huffed, "Beth, no. Don't even _think_ about it."

"We can't leave him here!"

"What if he's bit?"

"We'll deal with that later!"

The boy reached out his arms to me, speaking incoherently in Spanish. I snatched him up out of his sleeping bag, only then noticing that he had been sitting next to the rotting reminisces of his own mother, and shouted, "C'mon!"

Our only way out was to go the way we'd come. Daryl got in front of me to cut a path, and I took out the ones that came at us from angles he couldn't reach. The little boy clutched my neck and buried his face in my shoulder. I got so caught up in stabbing and slicing and running for my life that when James appeared I almost didn't pause to recognize if it was really him.

"Arrrrghhhh." James's milky, bloodshot glare was set eternally into the dirt-creased ridges across his decomposing skin. The purple and black maggot-infested bite mark on his arm flashed when he staggered forth and stretched out his fingers to grab at me and the boy. I scanned him up and down to make sure I wasn't dreaming.

I wasn't—his knee was still wrapped as it had been when we'd left him zip-tied to that sedan for his people or the undead to find.

James leeched onto arm. "_Arrrgghhh_!" he bellowed.

My first recollection of him hit me like a sucker punch: _"Hey, hey. Sweetheart. You're alright, sugar. We ain't gonna hurt you neither."_

"Beth!"

A bolt hit home in James' temple before he could take a chunk out of me or the little boy. Daryl and I took off, tearing through and taking out what few of the herd remained, until we were a safe enough distance away that we could take a rest and figure out what to do with the child.

"Beth?"

"Hmm?" My fingers had been stroking methodically over the little boy's dark hair since we'd hunkered down in an alcove of wild rose bushes. The sequence of James—_no, not James, the predator now living in his body_—reaching for me, attempting to hurt me, just like he had in life.

_It's only been a month and half since I met him. How long had it been since he got turned?_

Daryl stared at me but didn't comment on the way I'd zoned out.

"We gotta check the kid for bites or scratches."

"That was James' camp."

"What?"

"_James_. Remember? The guy that almost killed you?"

"Hell yeah I remember that asshole. He damn near tore my shoulder off."

"That was his camp, Daryl, the one he kept bragging about."

"Couldn't be. Not this far north."

"He did mention it was a ways off. Said they had a few rendezvous' in between. Doesn't this highway run all the way up north?"

"Yeah." Daryl shifted towards me on his knees, the lantern swinging in his hand. The little boy had cried himself to sleep in my arms. "Now we gotta make sure we ain't got a time bomb on our hands here."

I kept my grip firm on the child. "Not yet. Let him sleep."

"Let me check him over real quick."

"What if he _is_ bit?" It came out more as a whimper than I intended.

Daryl's eyes became gentle, his body and tone softening. "I'll take care of it then."

Consenting, I released my hold enough that Daryl could check every inch of exposed skin on the boy. I pulled up the child's t-shirt to check his stomach to be sure, but we found nothing.

Daryl sighed and rested back on his heels. "First thing in the morning, I'm goin' huntin' and then we move on. Don't want what's left of that herd followin' us if I can help it."

I couldn't stop it; my deepest-rooted fear slipped out: "It looked like there were as many people as he said in that camp. What if . . . what if there aren't any left that haven't been overrun by walkers?"

"Hey." Daryl said. "Stop."

"It's just—I mean, there were almost ninety people in that camp. _Ninety._ We had to have taken out at least half that. That means plenty were bitten. That means plenty were no longer human or—or _eaten_."

"You need to stop talkin' like that. Don't help nothin'." He took ahold of me by both my shoulders and squeezed, making me look directly at him. "Focus on livin' till tomorrow, okay?"

I smirked. "Pretty sure it's already after midnight."

"Then it worked." He parked ungracefully in the bed of moss in the tree next to me, shifting and squirming till he was settled. "You made it to another day."

It was a rarity, his tiny half-smile, so I savored it. I nodded and let the subject go.

We'd made it tomorrow. That was all I needed to focus on.

* * *

**The only English words the boy knew were his name and _I don't talk good._**

I'd carried Mateo, who woke off and on, as Daryl and I traveled. I'd introduced him to us both when he'd woken the first time (Daryl was apparently terrifying in his eyes, seeing as he shrunk away when Daryl gave Mateo a grunt to acknowledge his existence), and he had taken to me better than I'd thought.

"It's another mouth," Daryl grumbled.

In accordance to our track record of arguments, he had brought this up for a third time.

"We can't drop him off somewhere." _Because there's no where to drop him off._

"It's hard enough keepin' you and me alive."

"I doubt he'll eat as much as you. You're a grown man—he's not even four."

"It ain't that I don't wanna help the kid—"

"_Mateo_."

His jaw clenched slightly. "Ain't that I don't wanna help _Mateo_, I just don't see how we're gonna find enough to his belly from grumblin' too."

"I could help you hunt."

He grunted. That was the final word on the subject for miles until we came across a ramshackle farmhouse, too crumbling to make a suitable place for the night, but the lean-to off the back would do okay. Once settled, I made a pallet out of my bedroll and the extra throw I'd acquired a while back.

"How're we supposed to take care of a kid out here?" Daryl was squatted at the edge of the shelter, warming his hands over the tiny fire. He wouldn't look at me. The ease between us of the night before last had faded quick.

Lying down on my side behind Mateo, I curled an arm around the child to anchor us both. My stomach's popping and grumbling lulled me into a fitful nap; a tiny hand pulling on my arm startled me to consciousness in the middle of the night.

Mateo's russet eyes glistened with tears. "_Quién eres? Quién eres? ¿Dónde está mamá?_"

I pushed up to my elbows, shaking my head. I caught sight of Daryl, still in place by the fire, wary gaze concentrated on the exchange.

"Sweetie, I can't understand what you're sayin'."

"_Quién eres? Quién eres?¿Dónde está mamá?"_ Mateo repeated, frustration straining his soft little voice. He was quaking in my grip.

"He wants to know who you are and where his mama is," Daryl said.

I raised an eyebrow, shocked.

"You know _Spanish_?"

"Mrs. Rodriguez and some of the other old broads taught me some." I could hear where his voice caught on the punctuation, knew that the sentence was supposed to be finished with _back at the prison_.

"Wow. Um, can you talk to him then? Anything I say will be lost to him."

Daryl shrugged. "Could try."

"Mateo," I coaxed, turning him around on my knee to face Daryl. "Mateo, listen to my friend."

"Uh . . _Su nombre es Beth._" Daryl began shakily, concentrating to find the correct words._ "Tu mamá no está aquí. Nosotros no haremos daño ."_

I smiled when Mateo visibly relaxed, leaning into me, babbling away in Spanish at Daryl now—who, bless his heart, struggled to answer.

"He says he's hungry."

"I have one more can of beef stew in my pack."

Daryl retrieved the can and warmed it over the low flames. Mateo greedily ate every last bit until he passed out again under my blanket.

I moved closer to the fire once I was sure Mateo wouldn't stir if I left him alone. "You can sleep now."

Daryl didn't pause in sharpening a bolt. "Can't."

I didn't argue with him further on that; there was no use in wasting my breath. I wrapped my arms around my knees, drew them to my chest, and rested my chin on top.

"How the hell are we supposed to take care of him, Daryl?" Sometimes I carried the confidence and hope, sometimes I was the Atlas with the tipping mark in our decisions. Other times I got to be the questioning one, though it made the world, the _what ifs_ leaden on my shoulders.

"Same way we do with each other." Apparently he'd had enough time to think this through.

"What if something happens to him when he's with us?"

Daryl flicked his eyes up swiftly at mine, then back down to his moving knife.

"Wonder the same thing about you all the time."

My heart quite literally skipped a beat. I was afraid for a second it wouldn't start again.

"'Sides, you're the one that's always got all that hope," Daryl mumbled. "Thought you'd have more faith."

I screwed my eyes shut. "It's been hard to lately."

"Big Guy upstairs not listenin'?"

"He's listenin'. And I know He's workin'. It's just . . ."

"Mateo told me his dad's name."

More than relieved for the subject change, I whispered, "Really?"

"Yeah. Not really good news."

"What? Why?"

"Kid's dad is Juarez, that jackass sidekick of James'."

"_Seriously_?"

"Don't think the kid could lie."

"Dammit." I closed my eyes again, gritting my teeth. "How do we even know if Juarez is still alive?"

"Didn't see him in the camp."

"Me either. Then again, it all happened so fast."

"Wait—didn't you say somethin' 'bout James tellin' you 'bout some rendezvous places of theirs?"

"Yeah. If he got away, I bet there's where he went."

"Probably rounded up some survivors and supplies and took off."

"And didn't think to grab his son?" I seethed.

"Maybe he didn't know the kid was still alive."

"I would've at least checked."

Daryl harrumphed. Day split the night sky into fragments of dark violet and coral pink, bits of baby blue peeking through the hanging clouds.

"We have to try to find Juarez," I said, standing. I retrieved my gun from my pack and slipped it into the back of my pants. "I'm goin' huntin'. Stay here with Mateo."

"You shouldn't go out there by yourself."

I ignored him and trudged on, my boots crunching over dew-soaked leaves and rotting branches, until the lean-to my mismatched family used as shelter disappeared into the mist. Being in the woods always cleared my thoughts, set them in a straight line that I could read as a list. To-do lists had always somewhat comforted me; they'd given me crystal sights of what was ahead of me and what all I had to accomplish.

Deer were no where to be seen, nor wild pigs or rabbits. Walkers appeared sparsely, usually in odd numbers or alone. I ended up with a couple of squirrels. They bounced against my hip where I'd tied them onto my belt the entire trip back. I found the two of them waiting for me; Mateo stood at Daryl's side, barely tall enough for his head to be level with Daryl's belt, fingers clutching my friend's jeans. Once the squirrels were relinquished from my belt to his, and Mateo had his arms locked around my neck, we were off.

"Did James say anything 'bout where one of these places would be?" Daryl asked as our trio started the path east.

"Yup. They're all located along the highway. Not even a mile off road, most of 'em."

"He sure seemed to trust you."

My voice shrunk in my throat. "And look where that got him."

"Guy was a douchebag, Beth."

"Doesn't mean he deserved dying like that. What if some group found you, thought you were a douche, and tied you to a car for God knows who or what to find?"

Daryl remarked, "They'd probably've thought right."

"No." The sun struck our eyes as we came across a hill, warming my face and shoulders until the trees masked it when we reached the bottom of the slope. Mateo squinted, turned his face into my neck. "They wouldn't have."


	10. Losing Faith

It was a damn miracle. Daryl backtracked to the camp—which was full of walkers, both from inside and drawn out from the woods surrounding—and discovered tracks leading off towards the highway, to the north. Towards Mateo's asshat father.

"Only other people been out here is them," he'd said. "Worth checkin' out."

So we did. Autumn found its stride around us, trickling in bit by bit. The temperature slipped lower and lower as the days got shorter.

The first house we came across had been squatted in, and recently. We stayed for an evening and left at first light, finding the next spot two miles away and, much to our chagrin, used-up as well.

"We must be right on their tails," I said.

"Looks like it."

It took two more days—dragging our feet through the thicket of fallen leaves, breathing in the even thicker cool air, sleeping on near-empty bellies—before we found them.

"Daryl!" I grabbed him mid-step, startling Mateo's slumber with the jerk. Daryl spun on his heel, cat-eyes wide and angry. "I hear them," I said under my breath. Pointed to the northeast. "Listen."

He turned a ear to the northeast, from which the wind came, and with a nod (and a few gestures I had come to understand as _follow but stay behind me_) we trekked in the direction of men's voices and chopping wood.

"Maybe we should make ourselves known," I suggested. "You know, since they have _axes."_

Daryl shook his head. "Scope 'em out first. See what kinda set up they got. We can camp out nearby, go again first light, and drop off the kid."

"We can't just drop him off," I protested, touching Mateo's warm cheek, his head resting between my chin and collarbone. "We should see if they'll let us stay for a few days. Both of us need to rest up."

Again, that head went to shaking. "Naw. Don't trust 'em not to slit our throats while we're cat-nappin'."

* * *

We'd knocked on the cabin door like some old-world Jehovah's Witnesses. Of course, these days, when someone knocks on your door, that's even scarier than a geek scratching and growling at you. A knock meant a person, and a person meant an much more evenly matched fight.

We made a deal. It took a lot of negotiating, and they made us walk over to the clearing twenty yards from the house, as if they were trying to hide something inside. But we made a deal—they got Mateo back, and we got a couple days' worth of their supplies. Food. Water. Two First-Aid kits.

When I got the nod from Daryl, I handed Mateo over to his father, who wrapped the child in his embrace and joyously kissed his head several times over, crying out: _"¡Mi chico! ¡Mi chico! ¡Te eché de menos!"_

"You got your kid back," Daryl said. "Now it's time you hold up your end of the deal."

Juarez's expression of paternal gentleness molded into a sneer. Cold snaked into my chest, into my veins.

"We can't help you."

Itching to grab my knife and hold it to his fatty throat, I asked, "Can't? Or _won't_?"

"There's not enough resources to take on two more people. And we don't particularly trust you," the skinny guy hiding behind Juarez declared. When my glare hit him, he shrunk back.

"Because we tied James to a car?"

"Because that guy," Juarez growled, motioning at Daryl. "Shot James in the knee and shot me in the shoulder. Damn near killed me."

"Yeah, well, your boy James did a good job messin' me up too," Daryl snarled, rolling the healed shoulder that he said ached more and more with the cold.

Juarez grinned nastily. "Good."

"So are you gonna help us or what?" I challenged.

"No. Don't matter if you brought my son back to me. You're not forgiven for what you did to our leader. He was our friend and all he did was try to help you, you slut."  
"He was going to take _advantage_ of me!" I screeched. "He was going to make me his freakin' prostitute!"  
Juarez chuckled. Mateo's sweet face looked all kinds of wrong next to his father's malicious one. "He would've found other uses for you than that."

"That shit-faced bastard got what was comin' to him," Daryl spat. Swinging his arm, pointing at Juarez's chest like his finger was the barrel of a gun. "If I'd had it my way, he'd've been eaten alive."

I grabbed his arm before he actually could grab his .45 and do some damage. "Forget it, Daryl. We're goin' now."

"Naw. Naw I ain't goin' _nowhere_."

"No use in arguin'," I hissed. "C'mon."

Juarez grabbed Daryl by the strap of his bag. Swerving around, the gleam Daryl's eyes took on was one I'd seen all too much of late.

"Wait," purred Juarez, lazy and murderous. "Leave your packs."

"_What_?" Daryl objected.

"You can't make us do that!" crying out, I felt for my knife—well-hidden under my sweater—and gripped the handle. Things were moving south way too fast. "We gave you back your son. Now let us leave in peace."

"Drop your packs at my feet and you can go in peace. Cross my heart."

Taunting us. Taunting us like children who didn't understand the game of the new, savage world. And maybe _I_ didn't. Daryl did.

I didn't even see him pull his knife. Didn't even know what the plan was till I saw the flash of silver, the spray of blood, heard the guttural scream. The fingers of Juarez's hand that had been gripping Daryl's bag strap now lie on the forest floor.

Jumping into action, I kicked out the legs of the woman closest to me. Her finger had been so tight on the trigger of her AR, the surprise swiftness of my kick sent a wide arc of bullets into the treetops. I dropped on top of her and strangled her blue. Then I stole her gun.

No time to think. No time to feel remorse. Kicking, slashing, parrying, shooting and punching. Clawing my way through, grabbing Mateo from his unworthy father's arms, hollering Daryl's name till my voice was a bleat and all around us was blood and bodies.

We didn't run. When it was over, when every last one of James' camp's survivors was finished off, I rejoined my companion in the middle of it all, clutching the screeching child.

Daryl's chest rose and fell, fast and loud. Rose and fell. Fast and loud. I stared at it, feeling the strangest settling of peace. I'd just taken three people's lives—living people with memories and beating hearts—and I was freaking _calm. _

"What did we do?" Wondering aloud because I honestly had no idea what had conspired. My body, my hands, my actions. But that couldn't have been me.

_Who am I?_

He glanced at me, breakneck and heartless, and retrieved his backpack from the bloody ground. Slinging it over his shoulder, he stepped over a warm, messy corpse and towards the cabin with it's still-burning hearth. Our stolen home for tonight.

"What we had to."

* * *

_Dear Diary,_

_I'd like to say Mateo and Daryl and I lived pretty happily after that. I wish I could say that after Daryl and I took care of the survivors' bodies, we moved on and found somewhere safe for the coming winter. __I really wish I could say that._

_What the group had been hiding in that house was sickness. An older man sat near the fire when we went inside. He had the flu. Can you believe that? The flu! With all that we'd seen and been through, someone was dying of the flu. Because he couldn't find anymore antibiotics. Because Walgreens isn't open around the clock anymore._

_Daryl almost went right in for the kill. I stopped him. The man was harmless. He could barely lift his arm. He didn't ask either of us about the fate of the group. I think he could've cared less, and told us so. He knew Juarez was lower than pond scum. _

_The man died before Daryl could even go out to look for medicine that next day. He'd told us a lot about himself. Well, he told me. Daryl had occupied himself with going through every thing he could find in the house and Mateo had finally passed out. He'd been a construction worker and always had a weak immune system. His name was Paul. He had been married twice and had three kids. He didn't know if they were dead or not. They'd been with their mom when the world went crazy._

_We buried Paul. The other bodies were burned._

_We found and packed what we could and moved out the following day._

_It's been days but I still can't get the lump out of my throat, Diary._

_Mateo caught the flu from Paul. His immune system was even weaker than Paul's ever was, being so small and so young and malnourished. The flu took him in four days. It didn't matter what we did. His fever got worse and he turned blue. I made him tea like Mama used to make for us, from any herbs I could find. I made sure he was warm and comfortable. I tried to bring his fever down._

_We buried him in a field off the highway by an old rundown Texaco._

_I couldn't take care of him, Diary. I couldn't save him. And even though I barely knew him, I can feel the loss as if he were my own child._

_I hope Judith is okay. I hope she got out with Rick and Carl. I hope we find them and she's healthy. I hope they're all healthy and okay._

_Is there nothing good anymore? Am I being an idiot by hoping, Diary?_

_Because I sure as hell feel like one._


End file.
